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Thus, Arthur became King. As much because of his heritage as his popularity with the people he protected. More so the latter from everything Lancelot saw. Though the isles were still war-ridden, especially on the coasts, peace was starting to spread, just as Arthur envisioned.
Lancelot felt a pride he’d never felt before in being a part of this. Though he wasn’t precisely “one of the men,” he enjoyedthe comradery, even if from the periphery. Most of all, he basked in Arthur’s light.
Arthur washome.
And then, one day, he became more.
Chapter Six
“We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.”
?William Shakespeare,Henry VIII
It happened on Beltane.
Two years after Arthur took the metaphorical throne (for there really wasn’t one that he sat upon presiding over a royal court; he much preferred to be out and about amongst the people), at the age of twenty-two, he was touring the northern wilds with a few trusted men. While Christianity was spreading rapidly in the south, the land of Lothians remained predominantly pagan.
Arthur did not feel the need to dictate people’s beliefs, though there were powerful nobles, clergymen and warlords who pressured him to make a declaration. He refused to do so. The inhabitants of these isles did not need religion to unite them. They were all Britons. They spoke the same language, even if the Northerners’ burr and brogue took some getting used to.
And they all yearned for peace and prosperity. For themselves. For their children and grandchildren for generations to come.
Arthur intended to dedicate his lifetime toward achieving these goals.
Invaders continued to assault these lands, and while his armies drove away the more ruthless savages, there were many who settled here peacefully. The Celts all along the western coasts. The Angles in the North and East. Saxons spread across the South. And Jutes in pockets in the South and Southeast. As long as they were productive and treated their neighbors with respect, Arthur considered them all Britons.
They were his people, and he was one of them. Not better simply because he led. If he was strong, it was only that he needed the strength to protect them.
Arthur and his men had just succeeded in ousting a band of rogue Vikings from the coast, rescuing a small village from the raid. The villagers invited them to stay for the festival both to celebrate the first of summer and to give thanks to the warriors for their timely aid.
During the daytime, Arthur and his men had helped the farmers drive their cattle out to pasture. They witnessed the rituals the townsfolk performed to protect their animals, people and crops, and to encourage new growth.
Now, in the dark of night, small and large bonfires were kindled, and villagers led their cattle to walk around and between the fires, sometimes leaping over the flames and embers, chanting and dancing, celebrating life.
All of the fires in each of the villagers’ homes were doused and relit from the Beltane bonfire. Simple, but bountiful food and drink were passed around and offered to the aos sí. Every door and window, byres and livestock were decorated withyellow May flowers, thorn bushes and branches wrapped in flowers, ribbons, colorful shells and rushlights.
Fireflies danced with the bright orange embers that crackled from the flames, making it seem as if millions of stars had descended from the skies to wreathe these lands in magic.
Arthur sat upon a wooden bench nursing his tankard of ale while Lancelot sat across the long table from him. They both watched the villagers and the rest of Arthur’s men dance merrily around the bonfires, singing and chanting, laughing with carefree joy.
A pretty maid tugged Gawain away from the crowd, and they disappeared together into one of the huts. Sir Kay went next, chasing a buxom widow who giggled helplessly as she pretended to run away, but waited to be caught. Bedivere left the dancing only to sit next to the bonfire with a lovely lass, shoulder to shoulder, heads together.
It was a common enough scene, if not the celebration, then the women these men were comforted by in their wanderings. None of them were wedded yet; they were free to share their affections with whomever they chose, whoever chose them, if only for short periods of time. Often no longer than a night.
Arthur used to partake with predictable regularity and robustness these same comforts. But he hadn’t so much as bussed a woman’s cheek in several years.
Not since the tournament when he first met Lancelot.
He didn’t examine too closely why this was. It simply was.
While he missed the physical closeness, the pleasure not only of release but of giving and receiving affection and comfort, he did not chafe at the lack. His body wanted more than what his own hands could provide, aye, but he did not feel compelled to take the innumerable offers extended to him in every village they stayed at.
Tonight had been no exception. From the moment the festival began, come hither eyes had been batted his way. Even now, having gently rebuffed all advances, several women were still trying to catch his gaze. He determinedly avoided them.
Besides, he only had eyes for one person. As long as they were in his sights, he was content.
“Why don’t you join the dance?” Arthur said to his stoic First Knight.
“You’ve been watching it so intently.”
