The Cursed of Camelot

Chapter One

The sword fell with a clatter to the ground. Melehan, the son of Mordred looked up into the pale blue eyes of his conqueror. His opponent was a tall man his tunic, once white was now stained with the blood and entrails of some of the country’s best warriors. The vanquished man’s focus dropped to the man’s shield. It’s design had three red stripes on a white field. Melehan swallowed nervously. It was really him.

“Why would you of all people, return to help Arthur?” He hissed. “He’s dead you know. Killed by my father, in the fields of Camiann.” The speaker turned his empty hands palm upwards toward the tall knight and pulled off his gauntlets. “Foolish King Arthur,” He said with a mocking lilt to his voice. “He left Mordred in charge when he ran off seeking,” He rolled a wrist as he thought for the right word. “Vengeance? Is that the correct term? He left here seeking your head on a stick and now look at you. He invades your homeland, destroys countless homes and villages in an effort to get you to come out to the battle.”

Melehan pulled his chain mail shirt up and over his head. “Then Arthur discovers that my father has taken the kingdom” His smile broadened. “Woops, I suppose the great king had a lapse in judgement.”

The blue eyed knight brought the blade closer under Melehan’s chin and hovered menacingly..

“Ah yes, you are touchy about Arthur.” He shrugged. “Anyway he gets in trouble and you come running like his little dog. Why?” He paused and shook the long hair from his eyes as the chain shirt fell to the ground. “Why concern yourself with this? Arthur destroyed your homeland, he destroyed his homeland. Look around.” He swept an arm towards the battlefield. “My father’s allies are broken and running. He was working to make things better. My brother and I were going to make things better. We would’ve been just rulers.”

“Where is the queen?” the man spoke for the first time in a deep resonating voice.

Melehan undid the belt at his waist and his chausses dropped to the ground. The man stepped out of the chain mail leggings and ran a hand through his oily hair. He gulped nervously as he avoided eye contact. “She was going to marry my father you know. She was happy to do it to keep the country under one rule.”

“You lie.” The man snarled under his breath. The blue eyes narrowed under the man’s helmet. His grip on the sword shifted slightly as he loosened and then tightened it.

“No it’s true.” Melehan grimaced a bit. “She may have been under the impression that Arthur was killed during his foray into your kingdom.”

The sword shifted in his grip once again and the blue eyes narrowed even more.

“If you value your life, you will have a care of what you say.” Sir Lionel said walking up from the right of the man with the sword. “Where is the queen?”

“The queen?” Melehan scoffed. “She fled to the tower of London. She had said something about getting a gown for the wedding or something and then barricaded herself inside the tower. Father was sort of preoccupied with Arthur’s returning force. I suppose she’s still trapped in the tower. She should’ve been more supportive.”

The fingers in the tall knights hand flexed and unflexed along the grip of the sword.

“I repeat, Have a care if you value your life, do not speak ill of the queen.” Lionel pleaded and turning to the tall knight he said. “They are defeated, their army is either dead or dispersed, Constantine’s men should be able to handle things from here.”

The defeated man rubbed his short growth of beard and sneered. “Constantine his troops are still a day away. We weren’t prepared for your army. I still can’t believe Arthur chose that whelp Constantine to replace him.”

“Arthur would’ve chosen Gawain, he was his nephew.” Lionel said keeping his position between the big knight and Melehan. “Unfortunately he perished fighting your father’s army in Dover.”

“Was it unfortunate?” Melehan said raising his eyebrows. “Wasn’t Gawain the one who wanted you dead most of all?” He tipped his chin towards the big knight with the sword.

The grip on the sword was adjusted as the big man let his breath exhale loudly. “Gawain had his reason to hate me.”

“I would think so.” Melehan continued.”It seems that you killed his son, three of his brothers and rumor has it, he died from the wounds you gave him.”

Lionel grabbed the sword arm of the big knight. “Do not allow this pretender to enrage you cousin.”

“I never would’ve thought I’d see the day when the mighty Lancelot would be serving a dog like Constantine.” Melehan continued. “Oh he’s a cousin or something to Arthur. But I’m a nephew and a grandson. My bloodlines are superior, my claim the throne more clear.” He patted his chest and smiled. “Besides, the people like me.”

Lionel struggled to hold Lancelot’s sword arm. “Don’t allow him to bait you. He is defeated, his words are just empty air.” He hissed.

“I surrender.” The son of Mordred said sneering. “You are honor bound to care for a vanquished foe, it’s the code you live by.”

The flash of hatred in Lancelot’s eyes brought a sinister grin to the villain’s lips. “Oh the mighty Lancelot isn’t feeling so chivalrous today is he? My father was the rightful heir to the throne, he was Arthur’s son after all and since I am his eldest son it should fall upon me.”

There was a loud exhalation from under the helm of Lancelot. His vision began to cloud, as it had done so before on numerous occasions, usually followed by acts of wholesale slaughter.

“Lancelot no.” Lionel cried stepping between the two men. “He is defeated. Let the court decide what the fate of the traitor is to be.”

Melehan the older of Mordred’s two sons kicked his pile of armor where it lay on the ground. “I am armed now only with the words of truth my lord.” The man said with another evil sneer. “Let’s allow the court to decide. With my father’s death I should be the rightful king. I can prove my lineage.”

With a growl the tall knight struck with this sword, the blow was swift and powerful and sparks flew as he buried the blade of this sword several inches into the stone work at the front of the building.

Melehan had seen the blade’s movement and closed his eyes in anticipation for the killing blow. He now opened one eye and once he realized that his head was still attached he let out a sigh.

“Well rightful king.” Lancelot said removing his helmet. “Let’s see you draw the sword from the stone. I believe that’s how your people choose their kings.”

Melehan swallowed hard. “That was a parlor trick done by that old wizard Merlin. He stole the kingdom for Arthur. It should be my kingdom now.”

“Draw the sword.” Lancelot repeated.

Melehan reached out and grabbed the sword first with one hand and then with both. He tried throwing his weight one way and then the other to loosen its bite in the stone. He wrestled with the blade for several minutes before growling. “This is impossible no man can draw a sword from a stone.”

Lancelot reached out and pushed Melehan’s hands from the sword grip and with just a thumb and forefinger he pulled the blade free. With a slight grin he said. “It would appear that I have as much claim to the throne as anyone else, but I claim no relationship with Arthur.”

Melehan’s smile broadened. “No your relationship was with his wife.”

Lionel was quick enough to grab Lancelot’s arm before he could strike. “Cousin he is defeated.”

“Where is your younger brother.” Lancelot snarled his blood boiling under his skin. “With both you and Gorfalk as prisoners this war ends and Logres can be rebuilt.”

An arrow bounced harmlessly off of Lancelot’s shield and landed harmlessly yards away.

The knight turned and saw Gorfalk, the younger son of Mordred, armed with a bow. He was in his early twenties, his dark hair was pulled back. He was fitting another arrow into the bow.

“Watch him.” Lancelot said to Lionel indicating Melehan, he then turned towards the archer.

“Have a care cousin.” Lionel called out as the large man lifted his shield and charged towards the distant bowman.

Gorfalk fired another arrow and it splintered against the heavy shield that Lancelot carried. He watched as the armored man came forward like an irresistible force, shield held up like a snow plow. He pointed at the charging foe and stepped back as his last few loyal guards charged forward to defend him.

Lancelot made quick work of the guards. As he battled them he saw Gorfalk slip into a small stone building.

With the final guards running for their lives Lancelot paused to survey the field of battle. Bors was approaching his brother Lionel. Across the field, Lancelot’s half brother Hector De Maris was leading a charge against the few remaining knights loyal to the Mordred clan. This would be a total victory and Constatine’s forces hadn’t yet arrived to the field of battle.

Another arrow bounced off the shield, the impact brought his mind back to the task at hand. Without further delay the mighty knight charged once again. He stormed along the face of the small building and bashed through the doorway.

Gorfalk had been in the front room shooting out of a window, now he drew his sword and faced his greatest foe.

“You can’t take the throne from us.” He snarled while swinging wildly with the sword.

The blow was parried and with little effort the weapon was spun from the youth’s grasp. Lancelot stood the killing blow undelivered.

“I claim sanctuary.” Gorfalk said, his words coming so fast that Lancelot wasn’t sure what he had said. “I claim sanctuary.” He repeated slower and clearer.

For the first time Lancelot took in his surroundings. It was a friary, a holy place. The small building’s shattered door swung on its hinges, a few rows of benches faced a platform and there was a rectangle of wood which served as the alter.

The knight pointed at this with his sword. “You have much to pray about.” He said as he picked up the other man’s sword and bow. “Unarmed you are not a threat. You may have your sanctuary.”

“Melehan said you’d honor the cry of sanctuary. He said your code of chivalry would be your greatest weakness.”

Lancelot nodded to himself. “I can post some men outside. When you’ve repented enough you can face Constantine’s judgment.”

Gorfalk wasn’t as strong as his brother, his sneer wasn’t as accomplished. “That is a death sentence.” He muttered.

“It usually is when you turn on the king.” Lancelot said, forgetting momentarily that his army was fighting with King Arthur’s not that many months before. “Pray that you find a way for salvation.” He said.

It took a few moments to find several knights who could monitor the entrances and exits of the building. Then he started his walk back to where he’d left Lionel with Melehan.

He found the body of Lionel with a knife protruding from his back. He lay lifeless across the pile of discarded chainmail. Lancelot knelt by the body and cradled it in his arms. Lionel, his cousin, had been a squire of his. They’d been on many adventures together and somehow Melehan had gotten the drop on him.

End of submission