Serial Sunday: The Return of King Arthur, Act 4
- cepmurphywrites
- Sep 14
- 27 min read
By David Flin.
Act 4: Uneasy Lies the Heart
Scene 1.
A modern, run-down pub on the outskirts of London. A collection of heroes gather around several tables pushed together, and people give them plenty of room. The place has a strict “No dogs” rule, but this does not appear to apply to Caradoc’s wolf. This is possibly because people knew that a wolf and a dog were different beasts; more likely it was because they had no wish to tell Caradoc that his friend was not welcome here.
It was a boisterous meeting. When nine heroes of legend, all of whom expect to save Britain in its hour of need, are gathered to discuss how they can work together, ideas get exchanged at full volume.
Dame Ragnall watched the heroes as they debated, knitting all the while. It looked for all the world like she was a mother trying to look after a collection of hyperactive teenagers. All of the heroes, except for Cuthbert, were stubborn and very confident that they had the answer, which had to be bellowed above the sound of everyone else. Cuthbert said little, which was just as well, because few could understand his accent.
“Shouldn’t Bill be here?” asked Francis. He had fond memories of Bill. He enjoyed taking ladies to one of Shakespeare’s plays back in the day, although for the life of him, he couldn’t remember a single plot.
“Absolutely not,” said Arthur, with some force. “They may have brought us together, but it is for us to formulate our plan.”
“Remember that it is us that is deciding, Arthur. It’s not you simply telling us what to do. We decide jointly.” Marion was firm on this point.
“I have a proposal,” said Arthur. “I have studied how these Kingdoms are ruled, and it seems to me that something may be made of this.”
“Just remember that it’s a proposal, not an order,” Marion reminded Arthur.
“Around the Round Table,” said Gawain, aware that he could have phrased that better, “Arthur would seek the counsel of his knights. He would do no less here.”
“The election will be a close fought one,” Arthur said. “When we win this voting tournament, we can change the way that the tournament is run, and how the countries are run. MPs are chosen to run fiefdoms, for which they are responsible. An MP can have no distractions from this task, and if he…”
“Or she,” said Geraldine and Marion at the same time.
Arthur continued as though they had said nothing. “If they do not fulfil their obligations to their fiefdom, then the voters may request a bye-tournament. After a General Tournament, when all the MPs have been chosen, the MPs from each Kingdom elect one of their own to serve as King-Minister for that country. He, they, then gives up their fiefdom, to represent their Kingdom, and the fiefdom chooses another MP. From the King-Ministers, and Over-King Prime Minister is chosen.
“There is no need for these parties. Political groups, not entertainments, Caradoc. The people in a fiefdom chose their representative, whose sole task is to care for that fiefdom. The King-Minister’s sole task is to care for their Kingdom and is answerable to the MPs of that Kingdom. The Over-King Prime Minister’s sole task is to care for the Kingdoms as a group.
“What think you all?” Arthur finished.
Dame Ragnall glanced up at the momentary silence.
“We can call it Democratic Feudalism,” Arthur suggested.
“Feudal Democracy. That would be better,” countered Marion.
“What’s wrong with simple Feudalism?” Gawain asked.
“The people fear Feudalism. Why not just Democracy?” Marion suggested.
“Just Democracy,” mused Arthur a few times. “Democracy of Justice. Just Democracy. I fancy Bill himself might approve of the name. Since there are to be eight Kingdoms, I propose that each of you win a fiefdom in your Kingdom.”
“Aren’t you rather assuming that we’ll all win?” Hereward asked. Everyone threw crisps at him.
“Of course we’ll win. Caradoc, you are a leader and King of those in Wales, so you select a fiefdom in Wales. Cuthbert, you are from Holy Island in Northumbria, so that shall be your fiefdom and Kingdom. Francis, you take the Kingdom of Wessex, and Gawaine, since Morgawse of Lothian and Lot of Orkney are your forebears, you shall win Scotland. Geraldine, Ulster is yours, while Harold is London and the South East. Hereward, you are with Anglia, and Marion, Sherwood and Nottingham are your home, so you shall win Mercia.”
“What about you?”
“It is only right that I contest directly with the current Prime Minister for her fiefdom. Thus it shall be that Arthur shall contest with Morgan again, on the field of Loughborough. Arthur Pendragon shall vie with Nicky Morgan.”
Scene 2.
A busy evening at the Globe theatre.
Bill wasn’t sure about the play. He enjoyed taking Gwen to the theatre, and the Globe was nice and familiar, and they both enjoyed explaining how the plays they saw could be improved. It was just this particular play that was making him worry.
Love’s Labour’s Lost. A tale of Lords falling in love with Ladies, and wooing the wrong Lady. Somehow, it seemed to be tempting fate.
*****
It was the lull before the storm. Arthur and Marion knew that very soon they would be too busy to have a moment of privacy. Soon, they would be hard pressed to be in the same town, never mind the same room. They decided to watch one of Bill’s plays, before the last rush of activity.
Love’s Labour’s Lost. The chance of losing hard work, even if just for an evening, appealed.
*****
No-one recognised Bill and Gwen as they watched the play, quietly debating its merits. Even though Gwen claimed that it was clear that two different authors had scripted the play, from clues of style within the script, Bill was happy in her company. And he had to admit that while he had written all of the play, he had sort of plagiarised parts of it, and Gwen could distinguish the original from the plagiarised.
But Gwen was sitting close to him, and he was confident he could talk her into making the beast with two backs tonight.
*****
Everyone recognised Arthur and Marion as they watched the play. They happily bickered about its merits, and they wondered how stupid someone would have to be to fall in love with one person, and then be fooled by a disguise and woo someone else, thinking them to be their true love. Arthur was as happy as he had ever been.
*****
“Tragedies you can handle. Comedies, not so much,” said Gwen. “I know that everyone likes a happy ending, but well, you telegraph things. You can get away with that in tragedy; that’s an implacable fate. And as for your reliance on coincidence, well that’s just embarrassing.”
Bill was never going to admit it, but she was right. Instead of admitting it, he said: “There is a reason that the word coincidence exists. If fate works, then it must have a sense of humour, and act in unlikely ways.”
“But you can be subtle about it.”
“Subtle? With the groundlings? [1] They’re the ones who think Sir Thomas Belch is a name of great sophistication. You try writing a play and see how easy it is.”
“I don’t have your gift for putting words together. Maybe I should plot, and you do the writing. A collaboration, like when you collaborated with the Earl of Oxford.”
“I never collaborated with the Earl of Oxford.”
“Of course not,” she said, clearly humouring him. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, a promise of things to come. He took her arm, and they walked towards the exit.
Bill recognised someone in the crowd. “Is that Arthur?” he asked.
*****
As they were leaving, Marion kissed Arthur. They embraced, and then Marion felt Arthur stiffen in her arms, but not in a good way.
*****
As Arthur embraced Marion, he saw Bill, walking arm in arm with a beautiful woman. Well done, Bill, Arthur thought.
Then he recognised the woman, and he stiffened in shock.
*****
“Bill,” said Arthur, questioningly.
“Arthur,” said Bill, awkwardly.
“Arthur?” asked Gwen, pointedly.
“Gwen,” said Arthur, more awkwardly.
“Gwen?” Marion asked Arthur.
“Who?” Gwen asked Arthur, her head tilted towards Marion.
Arthur looked nonplussed. “Gwen. Um, Marion, this is Gwen, my, um, wife. Gwen, this is Marion, my um, wife. Bill, what are you doing with Gwen?”
“You leave me out of this,” Bill said.
“I’m not sure what you’re doing with my husband, but he was my husband before you were born,” Gwen said to Marion.
Marion straightened her back. “Arthur, I always said that I was not your wife, but that you were my husband. I thought it was our joke, but it seems that it was true. I’ve a fiefdom to win, so I’ll away to win it.”
Marion walked away quickly, not wanting to let Arthur see her tears. Arthur sadly watched her go, then turned back to Bill and Gwen. Bill had somehow been swept up in the crowd, and it was just Gwen and Arthur.
“How did you get here, Gwen?”
“There I was, in a nunnery. Lance had gone, you’d died, and even Gawain, who was always kind, was dead, so I had no-one left. I fell asleep one night, and then I woke up here. I found out that a descendant of mine became the Earl of Oxford, so I called him an ancestor rather than a descendant. What about you? The last time I looked, you were dead.”
“You know the prophecy. I died. I got better.” Arthur shrugged. “It happened to a lot of us. It seems that Fate wanted to make sure about whatever it has in store. Um, Gwen, about Marion. I love her, completely.”
“And I loved Lance, but I was married to you. Now you know how I felt. Marriage is about duty and honour. It has nothing to do with love. Our marriage was about your Kingdom. It was never about love.”
“You broke the marriage vows with Lance,” Arthur said sternly.
“And you forgave me. My indiscretion cost your life, my dear Lance’s life, the lives of many knights, and the end of the Kingdom. That is what happens when you break honour.” Gwen was able to make it sound like it was somehow Arthur’s fault.
“And what about Bill?”
“Bill will wait until this marriage is over, which will be when one of us is dead. Again. The same goes for Marion.”
“I’ve got a campaign to fight. I shall be hard at work with that and I will have no time for you.” Arthur’s voice was flat and emotionless.
“That should suit us both fine.”
Scene 3.
An oak-panelled office with an expensive desk, and a collection of old, costly, and functional furniture and furnishings. The walls have portraits of former Prime Ministers of Britain.
Sian was annoyed. She was more than annoyed, she was furious. Gwen had disappeared. It wasn’t that anyone missed her that much. Her work was never up to much, and she was so insipid that she had been given the nickname canteen coffee.
The reason Sian was angry was that Gwen had taken all her notes about Arthur Pendragon. It made her life impossible. What made it worse was that with the election, Arthur Pendragon was becoming big news, and she couldn’t do anything with her story.
Bill hadn’t got back to her, and it was clear that she was being frozen out. Well, if she couldn’t get the scoop on Arthur, and catapult herself to the top that way, she would have to do it another way. It went against the grain to give a politician a break, but by all accounts, Morgan needed every scrap of help that she could get. Well, Sian had the goods, and she was going to extract a high price for them.
She had managed to get a quarter hour slot in Morgan’s diary. That meant effectively five minutes, because you always had to repeat everything twice to make sure she understood. Sian still remembered the comment Morgan was reputed to have made when she was asked why she was voting against strengthening the military covenant, which was: “Everyone should be more careful when doing dangerous things.” By all accounts, she never understood why the soldiers in her constituency didn’t care for the comment.
Sian was invited into the room. Morgan looked for all the world like a startled deer caught in the headlights, with an artfully designed hairstyle that conveyed the impression of someone with little time to waste on fripperies.
“I’ve seen the polls. You are so screwed without me,” Sian stated.
“It’s not that bad. We’re on course to win. That’s what the polls say.”
“Your party may be OK, but you, Nicky Morgan, are dead in the water. Pendragon has got your constituency sewn up. The people like him. They see him. He talks with them and he sounds like a human being. At the moment, the best you can hope for is saving your deposit.” Maybe Sian was laying it on a bit thick, but thick was what you needed when dealing with most politicians. “You are stuffed big time, unless you listen to me. I can give you victory, but it comes at a price. That price is that when you win, you appoint me as Press Officer for No 10.”
Once that had been agreed, Sian proceeded with her exposition. “What you have to understand is that Arthur Pendragon is Arthur Pendragon.” On seeing Morgan’s total lack of comprehension, Sian explained. “Arthur Pendragon? King Arthur? Knights of the Round Table?” This was someone who went to Oxford? Sian thought about it. Perhaps that’s not a surprise. Sian had gone to Cambridge and didn’t have a high opinion of Oxford. “Arthur Pendragon believes he is King Arthur. Ask him if he is King Arthur. Then you can sit back and watch him make himself look like a lunatic.”
“Won’t he just deny it?”
“That’s the beauty. King Arthur was honest, scrupulously so. He believes he’s Arthur, so he’s got to be honest. Ask during the debate and watch him fall apart. It’ll discredit him, and all those standing as Independents for Arthur. You’ll be a hero to your party. They may even call you another Thatcher.”
“So that’s why he’s standing in my constituency. Arthur against Morgan.”
Dear God, thought Sian. It’s been a headline in every paper since the announcement. “You could be right. Just remember, ask him if he’s King Arthur.”
Scene 4.
BBC studio, for an election special of Any Questions. An eclectic and full audience.
For the last two weeks, Marion hadn’t had time to think about Arthur, although she missed him terribly. His slightly serious air of easy authority, his endearing stuffiness, his way of cutting to the heart of a matter, and the way he just made people feel better about themselves.
She had seen him constantly on television, charming the interviewers, looking a little tired to her eyes, and she could see that he was a little frustrated.
Marion had been busy as well, undertaking a whirl of meeting people and answering questions, with appearances everywhere. She had been asked why she hadn’t been with Arthur these last two weeks.
“I’ve been busy here in Sherwood. I’ve been told that there is an election going on. I’m sure that the wives and husbands and sweethearts of those soldiers from the Worcesters and the Foresters currently on deployment will quite understand what it is like to be separated from the person you love. At least I get to see mine every night on the News, and I can see he is safe and well.”
Soon the election would be over. Not long to go now.
She had never seen Gwen with Arthur since that night, and she knew that Arthur liked to have a friend by his side. Marion couldn’t be at his side, but she would be in the audience, watching. She took her seat and looked around the audience, but she couldn’t see Gwen. Marion was annoyed. Gwen’s place was here, supporting Arthur.
David Dimbleby was introducing the panellists for “Any Questions”. Marion knew that Arthur would do well. He always did well when dealing with unexpected questions. Marion looked at the panel and began to realise why the Heroes had been called back. Nicky Morgan, looking like a trapped deer, and with a smile that told the world: “I’ve got a surprise.” There was some Labour party clone whose name she had already forgotten, looking like a robot who would parrot back whatever line she had been fed. There was a Liberal Democrat, friendly, affable, and looking totally out of his depth. And a Sir something or other who was supposedly some business, who looked as if he’d never done a day’s physical labour in an over-privileged life.
The first questions were harmless enough. Then someone asked the politicians to explain what they stood for, and why people should vote for them. David Dimbleby had done this many times before, so he knew to leave Arthur till last.
The businessman said something about hoping that consideration would be given to wealth creators, because that was who created wealth. He obviously liked the phrase, because he used it several times.
The Labour leader buzzed, clicked, and then whirred into action, and started talking about creating a fairer society where everyone had their own unicorn, or something. Her voice was such a dull monotone that it was difficult to be sure.
The Lib-Dem leader spoke of the need to give everyone a voice, and to listen to all the voices. His party would listen to what everyone said and would enact its manifesto to answer the concerns.
Nicky Morgan explained that she would do good things, and people would know that they were good things because they would be the things that she was doing.
The hall seemed to take a deep breath when it was Arthur’s turn to speak. “I’ve been volunteering to do occasional work with a homeless shelter. They are overworked. Why? Because there is a lot of work, because there are too many homeless people. Why is that? Because the strong allow it to happen. I have said that everyone who works for me will do at least two hours a week of voluntary work, and that will be true when I am Prime Minister. Everyone, myself, Ministers, MPs, and every official, will spend two hours a week seeing what the problem is. If you only read about something, it is not real to you, it has no meaning, it is just numbers and stories. I will ensure that my people see exactly what it is that some people have to endure.
“I am distressed about honours. Everywhere I turn, I bump into Sir This, and Lord That, and Dame The Other. An honour should be something that is earned for service above and beyond, not for simply doing your job, or giving some money to a political party. I am sure that Sir Richard would agree that a knighthood should be a reward for someone who has earned it, and not simply bought as part of a shabby, backroom deal. Honours for just doing your job, that’s a nonsense. In the days of chivalry, knighthood was an honour held in great esteem, because the recipient had undergone trials to achieve it. Now we give knighthoods to those who play foot the ball skilfully, or who act well, or for some other petty reason.
“And trust. The law is founded on trust and respect. If a law is unjust, people must be able to get their voice heard, or they won’t respect the law. If people break the law, then they must face the consequences, regardless of what status they hold. If some people can break laws without consequence, then the law will not be trusted.”
He learned that from me, thought Marion, proudly. She noticed Gwen and Bill sneaking into the audience and sitting together at the back.
“Indeed,” Arthur continued, “the greater the status, the greater the responsibility to set a good example. I believe it is more harmful to this country for someone in a position of trust to break the law than someone who isn’t. Therefore, the punishment for a crime will be greater if committed by someone in a position of responsibility.”
The audience rose in applause. It took a moment for David Dimbleby to restore some order.
“Arthur,” said Nicky Morgan when things had quietened down. “Can I ask you a question?”
“We’re supposed to be taking questions from the public,” David Dimbleby said, sensing a ploy.
Marion felt that this was somehow a trap.
“As I understand it, until the voters decide, we are all members of the public.” Arthur spoke easily. “Ask away.”
Marion saw Bill sitting bolt upright, concern in his face.
“The thing is,” said Morgan, “I’m puzzled by your name, Arthur Pendragon. That’s the name of King Arthur, isn’t it?”
“So I understand. I don’t know if the experts have decided yet whether King Arthur was real, though.”
“But that’s just my point,” Morgan said, triumphantly. No-one seemed to grasp her point, so she explained. “Who are you really?”
“I’m Arthur Pendragon. I’m apparently someone who has the same name as King Arthur, who may or may not have been a real person.”
“But there’s a reason you have the same name, isn’t there,” Morgan suggested, pressing the point.
“My parents gave me my name. That’s the reason I have this name.”
“But you think you’re King Arthur, don’t you.” Morgan persisted on the point.
“Nicky, just because you have the name Morgan, I don’t go around accusing you of being Morgan le Fey. Are we to judge people by what name they have?”
“I think we’ve pursued this point, and we’re running low on time,” David Dimbleby said, trying to regain a semblance of control.
“That’s fine, if Arthur would just answer a simple question. Yes or no. Are you King Arthur?” Morgan smiled in triumph.
Just lie, thought Bill. It’s easy.
Just lie, thought Marion, knowing her Arthur wouldn’t.
Arthur thought for a moment, and Nicky Morgan gave a smile, knowing she had trapped him. “Are you King Arthur? Yes or no,” she demanded.
Arthur reached a decision and smiled. “Oh yes, I’m King Arthur.”
Scene 5.
Still in the BBC studio.
Oh God, thought Bill. It’s time for Arthur to do the whole Crispin Day’s speech thing, and I’ve not prepared him. Bill felt a bit guilty about why he had been missing, having spent the last two weeks ardently wooing Gwen, to the extent that he was close to giving Arthur the horns.
Geoff and Chris would kill him for messing the scheme up. But that was all right, because Arthur would already have killed him over Gwen.
“Don’t worry,” Gwen said to him. “This is Arthur. This is what he does.”
“It’s true. I’m King Arthur. It was said that I would return in the country’s hour of greatest need, and here I am. I didn’t want to reveal this. I wanted to fight the election without having an unfair advantage. How can others hope to compete with a legend? But for reasons I cannot fathom, Morgan has chosen to reveal my secret.
“You admit that you are crazy?” Nicky Morgan said, incredulously. He had fallen into her trap.
Arthur ignored her totally, stood up and walked to the centre of the panel, and took a position close to the front of the audience. Bill shook his head in admiration. Arthur had handled the stage perfectly.
Arthur addressed the audience, speaking clearly and conversationally, speaking as though he was talking to everyone individually. “I’ve seen something of this land, and it is clear to me that I have come in the time of its greatest need.”
“Is there some big danger coming?” someone from the audience called out. A feeling of fear ran through the audience.
“Gods, no,” Arthur said. “You have proven many times that there is no external danger that you cannot overcome. It might come at great cost, but you emerge. You have no need of protection. So long as you hold true to your truths, danger can hold no sway over you.”
“But you said you’d come in our hour of need.” The person standing in the audience was confused.
Arthur smiled comfortingly and addressed the audience. “I’m here not because you are in great danger, but because you stand on the verge of great things. For some years, you have stood on the verge of great things, and it has scared you, and you have drawn back, fearful of what wonders you might achieve. You need a leader to guide you across the threshold, and so I was sent.
“I look around this land, and I marvel at what you have achieved already. You heal the sick who would have died in my day. You can talk to anyone, anywhere, and not even Myrddin himself could do that. You build wonders and marvels, you have no need to break your backs in the field to put food on the table, and you have so many ways of preparing food that anyone today can eat better than a king did in my day, and I know this to be true for a certainty, for I was a king. I have eaten better here than ever I did in Camelot. You have the wisdom of all the ages at your fingertips.
“You have all this, and what you might further achieve scares you, and you step back, and some failings occur, from fear, and we see the things I have criticised take place. I have heard some people talk of the Good Old Days. I am from the Old Days, and let me tell you, they were not so good. I have seen both the Old and the New, and the New is a wonder to me.”
“Are you the new King?”
“What? No, I died, and the crown moved on. I’ve no intention of rebelling against the throne. I’ve seen for myself how that ends. I just stand as plain Arthur Pendragon, as someone who can lead you into greatness. All you need is a reminder of the qualities that have brought you so far; together we can take a step into greatness, and bring about wonders beyond imagination.”
“King Arthur had his knights, and I have not come alone. Others have come, bringing with them their own virtues, to remind you of what we can achieve together.
“Caradoc, with his zest for life and for getting involved. We only have one life on this Earth, so we must use it. Well, most of us only have one life. Dum vivimus, vivamus. [2]
“Cuthbert brings devotion and dedication. Even when dead, he continued to serve his flock.
“Francis is an entrepreneur who can seize upon a chance for the good of all.
“Gawain, a loyal knight I know well. A noble protector of all who need protection, dedicated to honour.
“Geraldine, who has great intelligence and wisdom and craft beyond compare. She sees a mystery of the universe and unravels it.
“Harold, who placed his body between this land and danger, and protected it, even unto death.
“Hereward, who continued to fight for his land and his beliefs, even when all seemed hopeless, and when it would have been easy to cease.
“And then there is my very own Marion, who knows injustice when she sees it, and she does not abide it, and strives always for justice for all. And, if the truth be told, she ensures that I do not relax into easy ways of thought.
“The day after tomorrow, you get to choose your leader. Choose wisely, for the future of the land is in your hands.”
Scene 6.
Nicky Morgan and Sian are in Morgan’s office, watching the early morning news on a television. The room is dark, and the wall is dominated by an enormous wall-mounted television. On screen, a pundit is talking with the programme presenter.
“It was a remarkable performance. Pendragon’s speech, what everyone is calling his King Arthur speech, has made this election much closer than had seemed possible. His use of the rhetorical device of pretending to look at the present from the viewpoint of the past, in order to show his present vision for the future was astonishingly powerful and it has resonated well with many voters,” the pundit explained.
“Has it had much effect on the opinion polls?” asked the presenter.
“Very much so. We see that Arthur’s Independents are now running neck and neck with the Conservatives, except in Scotland, where Arthur’s Independents are running neck and neck with the SNP. Geraldine is sweeping Ulster. It seems that her being a pagan has helped to heal the Protestant/Catholic divide. Roughly speaking, they all think she’s the spawn of the Devil, but she gives amazing parties, which is what matters. The Liberal Democrats are struggling, and the Labour Party has started the inquest into their defeat, although the election isn’t until tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Hector. Now, we turn to some views from people in constituencies around the country. Sarah in London, what’s the view there?”
The view on the television switched to a busy street scene somewhere in a reasonably affluent and photogenic part of London. The presenter with her microphone was surrounded by a carefully selected range of people.
“I’ll just ask. Excuse me, what did you think of Arthur Pendragon’s speech?” She then thrust her microphone towards a young woman.
“It was, you know, quite good. Made me feel good.”
“Will you be voting for him?”
“Oh no, I’m not old enough to vote. But he was, like, you know, really good.”
“And what about you, sir?” the presenter said, turning to an older, well-dressed man. “Are you worried by his saying that he was King Arthur?”
“Why should I be? It was self-evidently just a metaphysical expression that simply encapsulates a philosophical construct within the framework of a pseudo-mythical narrative.”
A young man spoke, adding his voice. “Besides, so what if he is crazy? It’s not like the sane politicians have done anything worthwhile. Let the crazies have a go, that’s what I say. How could he do any worse?”
“It’s not like any of the others are any good,” said a young woman.
The presenter interrupted her. “Aren’t you scared he might do something crazy from the Middle Ages, like reintroducing Droit de Seigneur?”
“What’s that?”
It was explained to the young woman. “Anytime he likes, anytime he likes,” she said, with rather more enthusiasm than decorum.
“There you have it, Tom,” the presenter said quickly. “The view from London.”
Elsewhere, the story was much the same. A remarkable number of people seemed to think it didn’t matter if the Prime Minister was insane, provided he spoke what they thought of as sense. Quite a few explained the speech as a device. Some accepted Arthur’s story, and there were a few signs proclaiming: “Joust Democracy.”
Morgan turned off the television and turned to glare at Sian. “This was your great plan, was it? Get him all that free publicity? It’s all anyone is talking about.”
Sian took exception to this. “It wasn’t me who let him get onto a soapbox and spout away without derailing him. When you saw he was taking control, you should have interrupted him. Or you could have told him you were Morgan le Fey, and offered to rule jointly with him.” Sian had a vague memory of Morgan le Fey sleeping with Arthur, but she tried to push that image from her mind. No, it was all right. Arthur slept with Morgawse, not Morgan. Possibly. Maybe it was both. Arthurian myth got quite complicated.
“If Arthur wins, you’re fired,” Morgan said.
If Arthur wins, Sian thought, you’ll be out of a job. It’s your constituency he’s standing in, you brainless dolt. Oxford education, I ask you.
Scene 7.
The set of the Great Hall of Nottingham Castle at Pinewood Studios, decked out for a party. A huge television screen dominates one wall, showing the election results as they come in. All the Heroes are gathered, to cheer or commiserate as required. Streamers and balloons are all around, and there is no shortage of food or drink.
Dame Ragnall looked around, satisfied that everything was in order for the party, whichever way the results turned out. The TV was reporting that the exit polls were suggesting that the result was too close to call. Some of the heroes were nervous. Cuthbert didn’t seem to be comfortable with the celebrations, and so he went to find a quiet area in which to pray.
Everything was ready, and the arrangements were satisfactory, but Ragnall couldn’t settle down to her knitting. Arthur and Marion were sitting next to each other, both of them tense, but neither talking to the other, and both carefully not touching the other. Ragnall found it most unsatisfactory.
At the other end of the Great Table, Bill and Gwen sat close together, neither talking to each other, both carefully not touching the other, both of them miserable and nervous. It really was most unsatisfactory.
The television announcer said that the exit polls indicated that the result would be a narrow Conservative victory. Everyone had done all that could be done, and now it was out of their hands. All that anyone could do was wait, and heroes were notoriously poor at waiting.
The first result came in, and Caradoc cheered when it became clear that although it was a Labour victory, the Independent candidate had beaten the Conservative.
“It’s Sunderland South” said Geraldine, dismissively. She had become something of an expert. “A dead fox could beat the Conservatives there.” She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “It’s not quite enough for us,” she said. “If that stays constant, we’ll fall just short.”
Marion put her hand out to Arthur, and then withdrew it at the last minute. Ragnall clicked her tongue in annoyance.
Arthur firmly took Marion’s hand. “One way or another, it’ll soon be over.” There were loud cheers as an Independent won a seat.
“That’s more like it,” said Geraldine with satisfaction.
Marion suddenly looked pale, withdrew her hand from Arthur’s, and ran off, looking queasy. Ragnall dropped a stitch, clicked her tongue in annoyance again, and then looked at Bill and Gwen. They were also dithering about showing their affection for each other. It really was most unsatisfactory.
Another result, another loss, and plastic cups were thrown at the television. Heroes could be such children sometimes. That thought stayed with Ragnall, and she rose and met Marion as she returned. Ragnall looked carefully at Marion and noted the signs. There were huge cheers as the television announced that Francis Drake had won East Devon by a massive margin.
“I never want to play bowls again,” he said. “Everyone wanted to play bowls with me, for some reason. Can’t stand the game myself. Mind you, the year of the Armada, the one that actually sailed, not the one I dealt with in Cadiz, the groundsman on the bowling green had an attractive daughter.”
Ragnall saw Arthur help Marion sit down, their hands briefly touching, and then cheers came from the heroes as another Independent was victorious.
“So that’s the way these results are working, is it?” she said, half to herself. “As it is here, so it is there. The one mirrors the other.” She came to a decision. “Arthur, Marion, Bill, brainless idiot, we need to talk privately. Now.”
She led the way to a side room, as boos broke out from the heroes at a disappointing result.
Scene 8.
A small room set aside from the set of the Great Hall.
Ragnall looked at the four of them. Two heroes, two supporters. That was how she viewed them. “Sit down, you four. Arthur, do you love Marion?”
“I do, but--”
“No buts. Just answer my questions,” Ragnall said sharply.
Arthur nodded, and there were huge cheers from the hall as Harold won Bexhill and Battle.
“That’s one in the eye for Morgan,” Bill said, unable to stop himself. He then went quiet when Ragnall looked at him; he felt like a naughty child.
“Marion, do you love Arthur?” Ragnall asked.
“Well, yes, obviously, but …”
“Gwen, do you love Bill?” Ragnall continued. “Fine. Bill, do you love the brainless trollop? Right, good, we’ve got that sorted out.”
There were huge cheers from outside as another couple of positive results came in. As there, so here. As here, so there, Ragnall thought to herself.
“Ragnall, that may be so,” said Arthur. “However, while I love Marion, I am married to Gwen. While I am married to Gwen, my feelings for Marion do not matter. I am not going to dishonour marriage, or Gwen, or Marion.”
A string of boos from the hall told of a downturn of fortunes. I’m going to have to hurry this along, thought Ragnall. Heroes can be such idiots. Gawain hadn’t yet once asked her why she was knitting. No matter; let’s not get distracted.
“Arthur, when it comes to riddles, you’re an idiot. Bill, Gwen, what is your relationship?”
Bill stiffened. “I don’t think that’s any of your business. Discretion is the better part of valour, and I’ve learned valour in the company of heroes, so I have learned to be discreet.”
Ragnall frowned. “It is, however, very much Arthur’s business.”
Gwen smiled. “Arthur will forgive me. He always forgives me. He does not love me, but he knows that I need love.”
“Gwen, you’re a brainless trollop. Always have been, always will be. I don’t know what Bill sees in you. With Lance, it was obvious. He just liked having his ego stroked. Anyway, Arthur, you’ve got a riddle in front of you. Are you going to find the answer?”
“I love Marion, but I am married to Gwen. That’s an end to it.”
There were more boos from outside.
“Gwen, how was Arthur when you last saw him in Camelot?” Ragnall asked sharply.
“Well, he was sort of dead.”
The penny dropped for Marion, and there were huge cheers from the hall outside as a couple of victories were announced. She started to speak when Ragnall held up a hand.
“Arthur has to find the answer for himself,” Ragnall said. “Well, Arthur?”
Arthur shrugged. “I died. Then I got better.”
Ragnall tried again. “Then why aren’t you King?”
“Because the Crown passed on when I died. But I took an Oath when I married Gwen. I do not break Oaths.”
There were more boos from outside. Another loss.
Ragnall shook her head. “I really don’t know what you see in him, Marion. Arthur, what, exactly, was your Marriage Oath?”
“To be faithful, honour, cherish, and so on,” Arthur replied.
The penny dropped with Bill. If there was one thing he was good with, it was words.
“Arthur,” said Marion, “you really are not fit to be let out on your own. What were the last five words of the Oath?”
“Um, in sickness and in health? No, wait, till death do us part.”
“And so?” This was hard work, Ragnall thought.
The penny finally dropped with Arthur. “Till death do us part,” he shouted joyfully. “I died, and therefore, Gwen and I were parted, the Marriage Oath ended when I died. Hang on. Ragnall, what about your marriage with Gawain? You both died.”
“And so? When Gawain works it out, we’ll get married again. The important point is that you are not married to Gwen, that you weren’t married to Gwen when you married Marion, and so you and Marion are properly married. Marion, I rather think that you have a secret that you need to tell Arthur about, haven’t you?”
Marion and Arthur were too busy kissing to pay much heed. So were Bill and Gwen. From the sounds of the party in the Main Hall, the election was going well.
Francis poked his head round the door. “Hurry up. We need just three more seats to win.”
“We would have caught more of the results if you hadn’t been so dense,” said Marion.
“Dense? Me? I was having to juggle a dozen different things, and I was expecting you to keep track of the little ones.”
“Little ones?” Marion said. “That reminds me.” She whispered in his ear, and Arthur smiled.
“A new world?”
“Of course not. The same world, just with different players.”
Arthur and Marion walked hand in hand into the Hall, bickering happily, followed by Ragnall.
Back in the side room, Bill turned to Gwen. “You know, all’s well that ends well.”
“I think we need to write a sequel to that. It wasn’t one of the Earl of Oxford’s best.”
Epilogue.
An empty stage. Enter Chorus.
Thus this tale of the Romance of King Arthur and Maid Marion is played out.
The lovers are reunited, the Heroes claim their prize.
The tale is done, though the stories go ever on.
The story of how Arthur and his heroes led the realm is a story for another day.
The story of how Fate conspired to allow Marion and Arthur to continue to bicker over the gender of their first-born, twins, that too is a tale for another day.
The story of how the fate of nations was determined on a hand of cards is one to be told on another day.
This play is played out, and I trust it appealed to your humour.
Truth in tales is like steel, malleable when placed under the heat of the action,
And for an author, steal is just another word for research.
If it appealed, and gave you a smile, then the tale has wagged truly.
And if it appealed not, then pay it no more heed.
Many stories from the tale remain as yet untold.
Maybe they will be told, in another time, and perhaps by another pen.
Until that time comes, I close the curtains on this little folly of mine.
----
[1] The groundlings were the audience in the cheapest part of the theatre, with no seats. They were notoriously boisterous.
[2] While we live, let us live.
--
The entirety of The Return of King Arthur is available in book form at Amazon now.
David Flin has written & edited a large number of alternate history books and all-ages novels, and edited Comedy Throughout the (P)Ages and How To Write Alternate History.
Comments