Merlin's Gold

Merlin's Gold - Chapter 19 - Dragon Blessed

"You must move the body."

"Merlin, no," said Arthur in horror, "I cannot move a dead warrior, he will rise up and haunt me for eternity for such a foul act."

"Not if I am here he won't. Do you trust me, my King?"

"I do."

"Then do this for me, please."

His jaw clamped shut in distaste, Arthur edged into the chamber and lifted the body carefully off the plinth to the floor. The decaying leather armour and clothing creaked alarmingly as he did so, threatening to break the mummified corpse into pieces. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when he had lain the body on the floor, and carefully moved the spears to join the body.

"Forgive me," he muttered and straightened up to look at the plinth. Merlin had joined him in the chamber and stood over the stone, looking at its shadowed surface.

"It's not solid Arthur, it has a lid."

Arthur looked along the side of the block and noticed a faint line. The block was far more highly crafted than he'd first thought, carved to resemble a roughly hewn plinth, but being in actuality so much more. They both heaved at the top and it grated complainingly as they moved it, dust swirling into the air around them.

"There," said Merlin excitedly. "You must raise the weapon Arthur, it is for a king to lift."

Arthur reached into the shadowed hollow of the bier and lifted out a heavy cloth-covered package, his eyes shining in dark excitement.

"Well done Arthur, come on, let's share the news."

"There is something I must do first Merlin," he said softly. He passed the package to the old man and replaced the lid, gently lifting the long-dead warrior back onto the slab, carefully rearranging the limbs and spears to their original position.

"Rest in peace," he murmured quietly, and Merlin nodded approvingly.

~

They were back in the command tent once more. Arthur had summonsed Mark, David, Gawain, Grayle, and Percival, and he and Merlin stood waiting as they filed into the tent. Arthur stood calm and contained, Merlin with a mysterious smile on his face.

The men stood facing Arthur, their eyes straying repeatedly to the darkly wrapped parcel in front of Merlin.

"Merlin and I have been into the mound," Arthur said without preamble.

"Another room?" asked Grayle, he looked directly at Merlin, eyes alight with anticipation.

"Yes lad," replied Arthur, "the southern chamber. We have retrieved what we believe to be the Dragon Mace of the Summer Country. I will let Merlin elaborate."

As Merlin briefed the men on the old legend, Arthur carefully unwrapped the bindings of the package, exposing several carefully wrapped layers, the inner ones heavily oiled to protect what lay inside.

Merlin finished as Arthur pulled off the last of the oily flax layers, placing a solid-looking mace on the table, the shaft and head embellished by ornate Celtic carvings and sigils. It was beautifully made, and all in the room drew in a breath.

"King Mark, would you please lift your weapon," said Arthur firmly.

"My King?" said Mark incredulously.

"It is yours to wield, my brother. Excalibur is my weapon, but only a king may wield a Dragon Blessed weapon."

"Then I abdicate my throne," said Mark hotly. "I am not worthy of this, I am not a warrior anymore." He waved his stump at Arthur.

"I do not accept that brother," said Arthur calmly. "Percival can barely stand, let alone fight, Gawain has been given a task that suits his skills and training as a knight, but both he and Grayle, although competent, are not yet ready to lead this many men. Despite your wounds, and the loss of your hand and eye, you are still a king, still a leader of men, and still a warrior. Although battered, you are still standing, and still powerful. Your men need you, and your family need you."

He paused and lay a hand on Mark's shoulder. "I need you."

Arthur smiled at Mark and placed the mace on the table in front of him. "Stand in front of your enemies and show them your defiance. Strike fear into their hearts by your refusal to be cowed. I will lead from the front, but I need you to direct the battle. This weapon has come to you, use it well."

Arthur and Merlin left the tent, and Gawain followed with David to leave Mark and his family standing alone. Mark stood, tears gathering in his eyes as he looked at the mace. Grayle broke the spell first, kneeling in front of his grandfather. "My liege, I am at your command."

Percival smiled but, unable to kneel, moved alongside his son, placing his hand on Grayle's shoulder. "As am I, my King."

"Traitors," muttered Mark. "Oh get up boy; you've made your point." He held out his good hand, and hauled Grayle to his feet, pulling him into a hug. He leaned over and grabbed the handle of the mace, giving it an experimental swing.

"Haven't used one of these things for a while, but I can't use a two-handed sword anymore now. You're going to have to strap a shield on me though."

"I'm sure it can be arranged, father. Grayle has a spare white trainee knight one somewhere," Percival said with a broad smile.

"Trainee! I'll give you trainee, you beggar," he said waving the mace in warning as Grayle laughed at the irate king.

A sudden commotion outside interrupted them and a guard poked his head into the tent.

"My King!" he said excitedly. "The rest of the Camelot party has arrived."

Mark, Percival, and Grayle hurried outside to watch the soldiers come into the camp. In the midst of one group of soldiers, two riders stood out as they were dressed almost identically in riding garb, their hair tied back in plaits. Iseult turned to face Grayle, her smile of welcome fading in the reflected look of horror on his face as she looked at him. Ignoring all protocol, he walked up to Guinevere, anger plain on his face.

"How could you bring her here, of all the places?" he spat, emotion snapping the syllables into bitter chunks. "She should be safe in Camelot, not dressed for war. It is not safe, it is not right... "

"It is not your decision," interrupted Guinevere abruptly. "You have no right to question me nephew, she is my lady-in-waiting and is expected to go where I go, wherever that may be if I so require. Now, I suggest you moderate your tone and get your emotions under control. This is not the right place to discuss this, but we will be discussing this further in private, do I make myself clear?"

Iseult, sat, looking shocked in equal turns by Grayle's outburst, and the sudden authority in the queen's voice.

Grayle looked at Iseult directly. "You should not be here. I do not want you here."

"Grayle, go to your tent." Percival's hand came to rest on his shoulder but was struck away almost instantly by his still furious son who turned to face him, anger still clear on his face.

"You will listen to your queen, and do as you are told," Percival said softly, staring the younger man down. "Now."

Grayle stalked away, not bothering to cast a look back at the small group behind him, while Iseult sat looking upset next to the queen.

Percival bowed deeply to the two ladies. "I am sorry for my son's behaviour, my Queen, my lady Iseult. I'm not quite sure what has got into him."

"Oh, I think I know what's wrong, Sir Percival. A little matter of the heart I would say," said Guinevere quietly, leaning down from her horse to touch his shoulder.

"It appears much has happened," she said, looking at his battered visage and bandaged arm, and then over at Mark.

"Aye, my Queen, but it is good to see you all arrive safely. Let us get you into the command tent and you can join King Arthur and catch up on events."