Children of the May (Children of the May Book 1)

Chapter Twenty: King Anguish (part three)

I am thirteen years old, and my father has called me and Iseult to the throne room. I’m surprised that Marhaus is already there. Our brother is dressed in his armour.

Our father has been tired recently. He sits on his throne and looks exhausted.

Iseult and I stand side-by-side. I bow to the king as I’ve been taught to in the throne room, and Iseult curtsies.

‘This is it then, my king?’ says Iseult. She knows something I do not.

‘Aye,’ says Marhaus, and is going to speak on, but –

‘Hush, lad,’ says my father. ‘You need to be mindful of when to speak where you’re going.’

 Marhaus looks at his boots. ‘Aye, father,’ he says. ‘Apologies.’

‘What’s happening?’ I say.

‘Your brother is of age,’ says my father. ‘He is leaving us for a while.’

‘Eh?’ I say.

‘Mordred,’ says father. ‘Listen, please. Just listen.’ He sighs. ‘I am sending Marhaus as my emissary to the court of King Arthur of the Britons.’

Marhaus grins.

‘Oh,’ I say. I’m jealous. ‘Can I go too? I’m a great squire.’

‘When does he leave?’ says Iseult.

‘Immediately,’ says my father. He doesn’t look happy.

Marhaus steps forward. Iseult runs to his arms and embraces him. I hang back.

‘Be careful,’ says Iseult to Marhaus.

‘No need, lass,’ my brother says. ‘Coming back more famous than Sir Lancelot, so I am.’

‘And stay away from the girls of Caerleon,’ warns my sister, though why Marhaus would want to get close to girls is beyond me: they’re boring.

My brother laughs. He kisses my sister on the forehead and comes to me. He touches my cheek, and then rests his gloved hand on my shoulder. 

‘And I want you to keep her out of trouble, alright?’ he says.

‘What kind of trouble am I going to get into?’ says my sister, her eyebrows arched.

‘I’ve seen the letters from your suitors, lass,’ says Marhaus, his arm still around my shoulder.

Iseult clicks her tongue at him. ‘Not likely.’

As we leave the throne room I tell Iseult that I’ll keep her safe. For I have beaten Marhaus twice with the sword, and I did it fair and square without him letting me win, I think – I’m fairly certain.

She laughs. ‘Thank you, Mordred.’

Her eyes light up when she sees Siobahn of Braghán waiting across the great hall. She runs over to her friend.

‘Is it alright?’ says Siobahn.

Iseult nods and kisses her friend on the lips. They embrace for a moment, and wander out of the room in the direction of the gardens, holding hands. I wait for them to go, and then run off to find some servants for a game of football. 

 

* * *

 

It is nine months later. My sister has come of age. We are besieged by suitors for her hand. Somehow the rumour has spread that Iseult is the most beautiful woman in the world. The Gauls even have a special name for her: ‘La Belle Iseult.’ But that’s stupid. Every girl in the world is more beautiful than my sister. I mean... who could seriously think that she’s as beautiful as Hetty in the kitchens, or red-haired Elaine of Astolat (even if Elaine is a bit miserable, and talks only of Sir Lancelot – but if anything that just makes her prettier, I think)?

(Hetty from the kitchens kissed me. She did! But then she said that she was wrong to kiss her king’s son. And I said: ‘Actually, Hetty...’ I’ve got this down, this love lark. Hetty says I’m the most beautiful boy in creation. She does.)

‘Mordred. Mordred! Wake up, lad.’

It’s my mother, Queen Isolde. She looks serious.

‘Time to stop dreaming of girls,’ she says.

I blush. Mother always knows what I’m thinking. I don’t know how.

‘Your brother is coming home, but we must be careful.’

‘Why?’ I say. Surely Marhaus – sorry, Sir Marhaus, as he is now ­– coming home can be nothing but a cause for celebration.

‘You’re a fine sword now, lad.’

‘I am, mother,’ I say. And it’s true: when Marhaus left I was getting there, but now I’m cleverer with my sword than my instructor. In all honesty I don’t think my brother could best me at all now.

‘We may need you, my darling.’ says Mother. ‘Word of your brother’s return came in a hand not his own, and I fear Arthur is on the move once more.’

'Arthur’s coming to Erin?’ I say. Griffin the surgeon has been instructing me in politics: I know that Arthur has conquered all the lands in the northern seas but Erin. ‘What about father?’

She looks worried. We’ve all been worried about father. He has been saying strange things recently.

 

* * *

 

I’m in my formal dress, awaiting my brother. Mother has sent out riders to greet him, but the word they have brought back is not happy. None of them have seen Marhaus among the soldiers coming our way, and there are a lot of soldiers, all of them wearing Arthur’s livery.

I’m ready. No dress sword for me today, I’m wearing my sharpest blade.  If it comes to it I’ll kill them all.

Trumpets sound, and the gates open. My mother helps Father out of his chair. He waves her away. I’m scared that he needs the support she offers.

And here they come. There must be five hundred of them. At their head a knight. I do not know him.

I glance at my sister. She holds Siobahn of Braghán’s hand. Her jaw is tight. My mother told them to go to Siobahn’s father, but they did not. Iseult was adamant she would greet our brother on his return.

‘Sir Tristan,’ says my father, greeting the unshaven knight at the head of the train. My father’s voice trembles.

None of us look at the coffin on the bier that they are pulling into the castle.

‘King Marhault,’ says Sir Tristan. ‘Alas, alas. I bring grievous news.’