The sound of raised male voices cut through the glass into the hall from outside the doors. The sound of stamping boots combined with shouts and the sound of a poll arm colliding with the cobbles of the outer path alerted all within to a scuffle. Arthur, who had been leaning against the arm of his chair pushed himself into an upright position, his grey eyes narrowing as the shouting grew louder. They were in the entrance hall. Some of the more forward-thinking courtiers began to hurry away towards the sides of the room, clearing the approach to the dais upon which the king was seated. Arthur watched them impassively before the double doors were kicked open and four guards burst in holding a weather-beaten man between them. He was still struggling, spitting curses at the men who held him...until finally his eyes found the King’s. Arthur’s expression was hard the dark circles under his eyes sapping from his face any marks of geniality he might otherwise have possessed. The man before him was no politician; Arthur could almost see his thoughts written across the brown of his eyes. He was taking in the king’s tired appearance, the worry lines across his forehead, and he derived triumph from it.
One of the Captains entered the hall on the heels of his men, and, marching past the spot where they had stopped, mounted the steps onto the dais. He came to a stop in front of Arthur and bowed, holding out an old folded sheet of parchment for the king to take. Arthur looked between the note and the pirate before accepting it.
“This...gentleman, Your Grace” the Captain explained, tipping his head in the outlaw’s direction, “showed up at the gate and demanded that we give you this.”Arthur nodded. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him as he unfurled the message. A lock of hair fell out onto the back of his hand, the chocolate-brown strands held together by a length of thin waxed twine; Tristan. The king picked it up between his forefinger and thumb, his attention momentarily given exclusively to the little memento. He did not want to let it go, if it was all he was to have, and his fist closed protectively around it, as if shielding it from further harm. Keeping it all away from his face the king began to read.
The handwriting was neat and not what he had been expecting at all. The demands were laid out clearly and explicitly. The messenger might not be the brightest, but his master was cut from a better kind of cloth. The king’s expression darkened the further he read until he reached the end, whereupon he folded it definitively and placed it down in his lap. It had made an unpleasant read, but it had also contained something sweeter; hope. Tristan was alive, and now he knew why no one had been able to find him. The surging elation that was making Arthur’s heart beat with a renewed energy was almost enough to smother the first stirrings of his anger. Almost. How dare they touch his son.
Arthur gave himself an internal shake. It was not the right time, rage, relief, they could all come later. For now he needed a clear head, he needed to appear the king and plan his next move carefully. Tristan’s life depended on it, and in a game of such high stakes he could not afford to lose. The only outward indication of the king’s displeasure was a slight stiffness to his shoulders and the straightness of his spine.
“Have your men release our guest, Captain,” he instructed, breaking the silence of the room. The men obeyed as Arthur summoned one of the squires from the edge of the room. The boy crouched down beside the throne so that the king might whisper his message in his ear; “fetch the Lady Morgana.” The boy nodded once before he hurried off out of the nearest side door. What Arthur wanted to do next was to march down the steps and punch the pirate in the jaw. He wanted to grab hold of him and kick him down to the dungeon himself. He could do neither for risk of retaliation.
“Your comrade kindly offers me time to consider my response,” Arthur told the captured pirate, gesturing at the piece of paper in his hand, “he understands, no doubt, that in matters of this nature I must first consult my council.” The king paused, fixing the pirate with a searching look, “my men will escort you to a place of safety away from these grounds where you might find shade and water. They will then leave you there and return here. I shall send my familiar to you in one hour with my response. Is this agreeable to you?” He could see the pirate thinking and considering the situation carefully before he spoke.
“Your familiar is a bird,” he replied suspiciously, eyeing the merlin perched on the back of the king’s chair.
Arthur sighed, “very well,” he conceded, “Lady Nimueh’s familiar then.” Arthur looked over at his mother, and Avalon the hare hopped out cautiously from behind his fairy’s skirts. The pirate glanced at him before nodding, “agreed,” he said, “but if the rabbit tries to follow me, the boy dies.”
“So be it,” the king confirmed, before nodding to the Captain to carry out his part of the bargain.
The pirate was ‘escorted’ back out of the hall by more guards than had brought him in. Before they reached the back of the room the double doors at the back were pulled open to the renewed muttering of the crowd. Mallos and Morgana were forced to move out of the way as the messenger was frog marched past them. Arthur caught his sister’s eye as the doors closed. Morgana turned to Mallos and nodded towards the dais, towards which Mordred had already begun to move from his space in the back left corner. As they walked through the hall the gossips closed in behind them, putting their heads together to discuss the latest development. Arthur remained seated, like some great stone carving of a king of old, regal in his severity.
“Pirates have him,” the king explained when his family had closed in a circle around him, blocking his view of the buzzing throng behind them, “and Thoth too, I should imagine. They ask only for one ransom, so I doubt they have any idea who he is." Arthur’s grey eyes settled on each of them in turn fixing first on Morgana and Mallos’ black eyes, then Nimueh’s green (so like Tristan’s) and finally Mordred’s piercing blue.
“Advise me.” His attention came to a rest on the face of his father-in-law, and Arthur offered him the smallest of grateful smiles.
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