Through the Spirit

Through The Spirit Pat Riordan Copyright © 2002 ISBN 0-9700930-5-6

THROUGH THE SPIRIT By Pat Riordan Published 2002 Published by Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 6280 Crittenden Ave, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright © 2002, Pat Riordan. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Atlantic Bridge Publishing http://www.atlanticbridge.net Email: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Chapter 1 Jon was a dreamer. In his dreams he found himself in another time or place. Once he experienced a vivid dream as a member of the French army fighting for Napoleon Bonaparte. In another dream he found himself in a kilt trudging across the barren plains of Scotland to fight for Bonny Prince Charlie. He dreamed he was in the trenches of Normandy fighting the Turks in World War I. When he woke up one day in a strange weird place his immediate reaction was, ‘was he dreaming?’ Where was he? The bed he was on felt like stone. The covering over him was an animal skin and the smell that greeted his nostrils would rival any chicken coop. “Yuk!” he said, swiveling his head and eyes around and not daring to move his body. The room around him was small, built mainly from stone. Small holes in the walls served as windows and a hanging animal skin served as the door. Amazed, he lifted his head slightly and gazed further around, seeing smoke lazily rising from the roughly hewn fireplace. The room was dim. The furniture was large, ugly and made of rough planks of wood. On the table plank were fish, bread, cups and plates. Peering through the gloom Jon saw a person huddled in the corner beside the fire. The noise from the sleeping person was a loud snoring. The snores added to the confusion of sounds coming from outside. He heard a wind howling and the pounding of the sea. Crashes of noise came at intervals and echoed in his ears. ‘The noise has to be waves bashing against rocks,’ he thought. Glancing around, his eyes swiveling around in confusion, his mind screaming that he hated this dream. It was more likened to a nightmare. He closed his eyes tight, hoping the whole scene would go away. His eyes closed, holding his breath and counting to ten, he sensed a movement in the corner of the room. He heard a shuffling noise coming toward him. He lay tense and silent until curiosity got the better of him and his eyes fluttered open. His eyes wide open, he expected to see his mother standing over him in his own room with his own things around him. Instead he stared into the eyes of a strange woman peering down on him. She smiled and Jon saw her teeth were brown and her two front teeth were missing, which coupled with her smile, gave her the gruesome awesome look of a witch. He stared in dismay, tears prickling his eyes and pangs of panic racing through his body. “Ruhtra… Ruhtra. My boy,” the strange person whispered down at Jon in an unfamiliar rasping voice. “You’ve come back to us. You’ve come back to us,” she repeated dolefully. “We thought that you had gone forever.” The woman bent down over Jon and to his utter dismay she lifted up the top half of his body and crushed it tightly to her bosom. A feeling of nausea crept over him at the smell of this strange woman. It was not the nice perfumed smell of his mother but a smell that lingers in a fish and chip restaurant. Wrenching away from the woman’s firm grip he fell back onto the bed.

‘Perhaps,’ his thoughts spiraling around, ‘perhaps if he pretended to pass out he would have time to gather his wits.’ He closed his eyes, willing his body to go limp. ‘How long could he keep still without twitching?’ “Ruhtra, Ruhtra, come back, come back,” the women wailed. Jon felt the shudder of revulsion reach every nerve in his body. He must be dreaming. He had to be dreaming. ‘How could he have gone to sleep in his own comfortable bed in his own room, in his own house with his television blaring, and then wake up to all this? No, no, this is not a dream, he thought fervently. It is a nightmare!’ He remained silent trying to sort out his emotions. If he remembered ‘who’ he really was, then perhaps if he thought hard enough he could remember how he managed to be in this weird place. ‘Bike.... Bang... Crash!’ were the noises going through his head as he lay straining his mind. ‘Hang on! Hang on!’ Visions scampered through his confused brain. In these visions he saw himself riding his bicycle, pedaling along a long street with many trees and houses. ‘Wait, wait’…he paused, as memories flooded back to him. Taking a deeper breath, his thoughts screeching at him loudly, he started to piece together more of the mystery that had been eluding him. “My name is Jon Hooper. My name is Jon Hooper!” he repeated softly. “I was spending the afternoon with my best friend Troy. We were playing war games and I had to leave because it was getting late and my Mom would start to worry. I was on my bike...and something happened...something hit me and I hurtled through the air...and then nothing.” There was nothing left to remember. After a minute of trying hard to add more, Jon could not. His mind went blank.

Chapter 2 The car that knocked Jon Hooper down and left him to die on the side of the road, drove away without stopping. People from the corner house rushed out at the sound of the crash and called for help. They saved Jon’s life with their swift actions. The police and an ambulance arrived and the badly injured Jon was immediately given oxygen, slipped on to a backboard and taken off in the ambulance to the Emergency ward of St. Helen’s Hospital, Avalon. Neighbors identified Jon as living further down the street and the police found Jon’s parents at home. Rushing them to the hospital, they arrived shortly after Jon had been admitted to the Intensive Care Unit. Jon’s parents dashed to the Reception and stood waiting breathlessly. “You’re his parents?” the nursing sister asked. His mother nodded. ”Is he...Is he?” “He’s alive but very badly hurt. He has a severe head injury. Our neuro-surgical team is with him now. When they’ve examined him we’ll be able to tell you more.” His mother cried and his father paced anxiously up and down the waiting room until an orderly arrived. “Mr. and Mrs. Hooper,” an orderly said, “The doctors would like to see you now. They will explain Jon’s condition. Come with me,” leading them into a small room where three doctors waited. “Jon has sustained a tremendous blow to the head and is losing a lot of blood,” one of the doctors said quietly. “ He appears to have sustained two kinds of injury. On the moment of impact, his head probably hit the car bumper and has been badly damaged. The arteries and veins have been torn and there is internal bleeding inside his head. The second is perhaps the worst. He has open wounds in his skull and his brain is exposed.” Jon’s mother shuddered at the thought. “He has lost a fair amount of blood and there is a loss of oxygen to his brain. We’ll need to operate immediately and there will be no guarantee that the operation will be successful.” Jon’s father cringed at the forthright assessment. His mother buried her head in her arms and sobbed. “Do what ever you have to do,” his father said. “What you’re telling us is that our son may not make it at all.... Or if he does, he’ll be severely impaired.” “He could remain in a coma permanently.” Jon’s father took his sobbing wife in his arms.” Do what has to be done doctor. Please try and save our son.”

The Hooper’s waited many long hours. Neither of them wanted to go home. “I’ll go and ring the girls or shall I ring your sister and get her to go round and tell them? I am sure she’ll stay with them until we find something out.” “Jon.... Oh!…Jon.” His mother cried. “If only I’d gone round to Troy’s to get you.” “Darling, darling,” his father sobbed. “There is nothing we could do to prevent this. Jon is strong. He’ll pull through. Just wait and see.”

Chapter 3 Jon Hooper, in the real world, was fourteen years old, slim, with blue eyes and blond hair. He lived with his parents and his two sisters in the Sydney suburb called Avalon. He did most stuff the average boy did: swimming, surfing, football, riding his bicycle and collecting things. He was an average student at school, excelling in the subjects that interested him and struggled with the subjects that didn’t. He couldn’t say definitely whether he liked school or not. Most of it seemed a waste of time. It would have been more enjoyable if he could study only the things that he liked. Math, English, and languages did not interest him but he loved science and history. In Science, he loved his teacher, as did most the boys in the class. Ms. Newman was strict, but fair and helpful. To be perfectly honest, she was mesmerizing. It had nothing to do with her age or looks, although the boys reckoned without wearing her hair in a tight bun, huge black glasses, flat shoes and clothes that covered every curve of her body, she would possibly be a stunner. The attraction was her voice. It held them spellbound. A rich full resonance, pitched low and somber like the slow beat of a drum, engrossed them in experiments, coxed them to rote learn periodic tables and unravel the wonders of the scientific world in new and interesting ways. It was the kind of voice that one never forgets. One that pulsates through the head as you drop off to sleep, echoes in one’s dreams and reverberates when doing science homework. Coupled with her strange way of dressing in weird wonderful combinations of colors and fashions, Ms. Newman was certainly captivating. She was like no other person, the boys had ever encountered. She was without doubt the most vivid person Jon had come across in his short life and he suspected it was the same for quite a few of the boys in his class, judging from the way they behaved. They did what they were told in class by Ms. Newman as opposed to the irascible behavior the displayed with other teachers. But history was Jon’s favorite subject. In history lessons his imagination ran riot. Mr. Grice, his teacher, made history sound so interesting and fascinating; describing events so vividly that often Jon would think Mr. Grice had actually been there at the time. The graphic descriptions of battles stayed with Jon for hours after the history lesson and he often got into trouble in other lessons, for dreaming. His nickname was ‘dreamer.’ Most of his fantasy was about strategy. ‘What strategy would he engage in his own historical battles with his own armies were he their leader?’ Jon and his friend Troy, over the years, collected a whole range of toy soldiers and historical equipment. They spent many hours waging imaginary war against each other. Jon’s soldiers were foot soldiers, artillery or mounted soldiers on magnificent horses. Each miniature had been lovingly constructed and painted from a kit. Jon bought the kits from a shop specializing in medieval history. All of his pocket money and gift money went into his growing collection. The results looked terrific and lined the shelves of his room. No one in the house was allowed to touch his armies and his father just shook his head at the amount of money and time Jon spent on his growing passion.

Every night before Jon turned off his light he took a last look at his armies. Until he dropped off to sleep, he imagined them engaged in real battles or he worked out strategies for his next game with Troy. Mr. Grice organized a War Games Club at lunchtimes. Jon and Troy had been members since the beginning. Membership grew fast as other boys at the school increased their collections and game skills. Jon and Troy helped instruct others learn to play the games and construct scenery out of paper mâche, balsa wood and paint, making battlefields with green pastures, rolling hills and authentic castles. In Social Science Jon did well. Not sure why, it always amazed him that he was able to reach a high standard.

Chapter 4 Next morning eleven hours after Jon’s bicycle accident, the doctor returned to Jon’s parents, who dozed throughout the night in waiting room chairs. “I’ve good and bad news for you.” The doctor said haltingly, waking them gently . He hated having to tell parents the bad news. It had never been a favorite part of his job; telling people that there may not be much hope. “Jon is still alive but in a coma. The next twenty-four hours will be most crucial. The brain will swell and there is a possibility that infection will set in....We are doing everything we can to save him. You’ll have to be prepared for a shock when you see him. We’ll let you go in for a few minutes. Come with me.” Jon’s parents were not prepared to see their son lying on the bed. His face was so battered that bandages covered practically all his face. His head had been shaved. Chrome monitors and machines surrounded his bed and he looked like he was lying in a space machine. He father whispered. “ He seems to be a million kilometers away!’ Jon was not exactly in a coma. He was in a time warp. He had been spirited back into the past... many millions of days away...not kilometers. Jon did not know this either. All he knew was that he was still in the tiny cramped stone room laying on a stone bed, trying to figure out what had happened to him. When he woke again the strange woman no longer stood over him. He saw her the other side of the room tending the fire and muttering. He did not dare leave his eyes open too long in case she looked back at him. He certainly did not want her to come over to him so he closed his eyes and desperately searched his mind for answers. ‘What happened him after the car hit him? What happened?’ Vaguely a white apparition came to his mind. He saw some sort of room with a solitary bed in it. It was definitely not his room at home. This room was all white… He was floating near the ceiling, looking down onto a bed. He was looking down at a boy covered in bandages lying on a bed surrounded by gadgets. It’s a hospital room, he discerned, with all those chrome gadgets surrounding a young boy. Then he saw his parents come into the room and start crying as they looked at the boy in the bed. Jon realized the boy on the bed was actually himself! ‘Yes, it’s me!’ His body was there but his mind was floating near the ceiling. ‘How can that be?’ He tried hard to remember. Nothing came to mind. ‘Why was he lying on the bed?’ The light. Yes, he saw a light appearing in front of his eyes. It was a very bright white light forming a tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, he made out a person dressed in white. He remembered thinking as he moved towards the light it must an angel calling him. Another blank period came over Jon lying on the stone bed in the cottage with his eyes closed. His mind and head hurt too much. All he wanted to do was rest. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

After a few minutes dozing, his mind flashed with another memory. He was shouting to the angel at the end of the tunnel. ‘I’m coming. I’m coming.’ He floated further up the tunnel. Near the end, he could just make out the angel. However, it was not an angel. It was a person. He saw the person looked very much like his history teacher Mr. Grice. Mr. Grice appeared to be beckoning to him. “Come Jon. Come Jon. Come.” Jon’s body wanted to obey the command and he floated up the tunnel. He remembered thinking that the tunnel must lead to heaven. ‘Did I die and was I going to heaven? Had the car killed him? - To wake up in this place when he believed heaven to be such a beautiful place, Yeeks! Had he woken up in hell?’ Jon drifted off into sleep. Jon was still in his nightmare when he woke up, still lying on the stone bed surrounded by unfamiliar smells. He listened to noises around him. He heard the pounding of the sea. ‘Where was that women that kept calling by some name that sounded like ‘Roota’?’ The fishy smell was not far away. Opening his eyes he saw she was not standing over him! The only light in the room came from the wood fire in the alcove and it was hard to see anything over there. He spotted her on the floor. She had her eyes closed and was gently snoring. ‘Phew! He was still here in this ghastly place. What happened to heaven?’ A new noise that sounded like crunching feet on gravel caught his attention. ‘Someone’s coming!’ He thought with a panic. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep. A rush of cold air swept over him. Someone had come into the room. “Woman, woman,” a deep man’s voice boomed. “Has the lad woken yet? Woman, woman, wake up. Why are you not watching the boy?” “Ugh.... Ugh.” Came the reply from the floor. “Gwin, Gwin is that you? “ The woman replied as she woke. “The boy woke up. My Ruhtra woke up. He’s alive!” “Well Merde,” answered the man. “Why is he asleep now?” The man’s name must be ‘Gwin,’ thought Jon, and the woman keeps calling me. ’Rootra.’ Rootra had to be the name of the person that should be lying on this bed. What a strange lot of names! He wondered what language the names were. If he could work that out he may have a clue as to where he was. Oh, how he wished he could open his eyes but he felt safer with them closed. The woman started to weep. “What is it woman? You're not grieving because he’s alive. Are you?” “I’m weeping for the joy of knowing that my Ruhtra is alive and I can nurse him back to good health. God has spared him.”

Jon (alias Ruhtra) lay very still on the bed. He willed himself not to move. If he lay quite still, he reasoned, he might be able to hear more. The woman wailed again to Gwin. “When Sir Ector’s men brought him back here to us from the castle, telling us he had been thrown from his horse, we cried with relief because he was not dead. Since then I’ve been wondering. What think you about all this Gwin?” “Merde, I know not what to think. Like you, I have wondered. Why did Sir Ector send Ruhtra to Merlin the magician in the first place? Did he fall off his horse on the way there, or back? Who knocked him off his horse? Ruhtra is too good a horseman to be knocked off a horse. Why did Sir Ector bother to send him back although nearly dead? Why is he so concerned about his health? Boys like Ruhtra are plentiful. Sir Ector does not usually care about saving lives! I have seen many boys left to die. How can we question why he returned Ruhtra in such a state?” Jon’s listened intently. ‘Who was this knight Sir Ector?’ The only times he remembered people mentioning ‘knights’, were in his war game battles or when his history teacher Mr. Grice rambled on about the Middle Ages. He lay very still listening, but learned nothing more. The man, Gwin, got up and left the cottage. It was silent except for his thoughts. ‘They thought he was someone else! He couldn’t ride a horse! He had never been on a horse in his life! Should he jump up and tell them, he wasn’t this person called ‘Rootra’.’ He lay for a while, torn between what he wanted to do and what he felt he should not do. On second thought, maybe he had better do nothing. They might kill him! ‘This is turning out to really be a bad dream! Surely, he would wake up in a minute and find himself snuggled in his own bed, in his own sweet smelling room, surrounded by his own belongings.’ Jon loved his mother deeply. He felt tears form in his eyes.... How he missed her! ‘Why isn’t she here now to hold and hug me?’ He could even forgive her for always embarrassing him about his looks. ’Those good looks will hurt!’ she often said. She was also adding that she had no idea where his blue eyes and blond hair came from; his sisters had brown hair and brown eyes. Neither his mother nor father had light coloring. His father joked that he must be the son of the milkman! ‘No… at this moment he would not care how much they embarrassed him as long as he was home and not in the middle of this bad dream. ‘Girls, I am not interested in girls! Didn’t he have two horrors for sisters? Even though they give me a hard time, I would be very, very pleased to see them. Girls were always crying about something. Right now he had something to cry about...If only he knew what was going on!’

‘If Troy were with him, he would have someone to talk to!’ Another thought scrambled through his mind. ‘Could he possibly have woken up in a movie set? He had seen movies with people in stone cottages like this. Should he just sit up and shout ‘cut! I do not want to be in this movie any longer!’ Troy was his best friend in the whole wide world and he missed him. Troy knew all about movies. Troy was the last person he remembered seeing before the accident, unless he could believe seeing himself in the hospital bed or Mr. Grice at the end of that tunnel! Jon lay on the stone bed with his mind in turmoil. ‘He was so tired... he was so tired.’ Before long, he drifted into a deep sleep.

Chapter 5 That night Gwin found it difficult to sleep. His mind was a maze of questions. He looked for answers. The main question he pondered was why Ruhtra had been privileged enough to be spared by Sir Ector. Gwin lived with Merde and Ruhtra, a little distance away from the Castle of Sir Ector. He was the leading horseman on Sir Ector’s estate. Everyday Gwin trudged to Sir Ector’s stables, in the castle, to tend his horses. His time was spent from early morning until late at night, nurturing, talking, exercising and grooming horses. He was very good at his job, sharing empathy and an affinity with the horses, mainly because he liked horses better than he liked people. He generally found that he could talk to the horses better than he could people. He never found even the most difficult horse hard to handle. He just talked to them in his low mellifluous voice, coaxing them to do what he wanted. It was a relief that Sir Ector seemed to like him. Perhaps, that is why he helped save Ruhtra… Somehow to Gwin, lying in the dark, this did not seem to be a good enough reason. He searched his memory for reasons until he remembered one early morning several years ago when he was surprised to see Sir Ector walking across the courtyard, alone. Sir Ector had risen from his bed early just to find Gwin. A vision had disturbed Sir Ector in his sleep. The vision was of Gwin, holding a horse and talking in quiet tones. Not to the horse, but to a small boy with blond hair and blue eyes. Nothing strange about a dream like that but the boy had a blue halo above his head. The next thing he saw was the same boy charging across battlefield, killing everyone in front of him. Ector woke with a start early in the morning. The vision that had plagued him throughout the night was still lingering in his mind. Something made him get out of bed earlier than usual. Covered in sweat, he put on his cape, crept out of the bedchamber, to come down to the courtyard to search for Gwin. He had to ask him if he knew anything about the vision. About a blonde haired, blue eyed boy. Gwin came out of the stables through the early morning mist and into the courtyard just as Sir Ector arrived. Gwin was talking quietly but not to the horse. Seated in the saddle was the boy that Ector had seen in his reoccurring vision- the blonde, blueeyed boy. As Gwin approached the boy loomed as large as life. “Sire,” Gwin acknowledged with a bow. “Do you want me to saddle your horse?” “No, no,” replied Sir Ector. “I could not sleep so I decided to come for a walk.” His voice trembling with shock. “Who have we here?” “Sire, I hope that you do not mind but this is my son, Ruhtra. He comes with me every morning. He loves horses as much as I do. I am training him to follow in my

footsteps,” Gwin answered. Gwin had no idea that Ector’s mind was in turmoil. His… son, thought Ector…He looks nothing like Gwin! Such a vision as this boy makes, could not have come out of a man like Gwin. Even though he is sitting on a horse the boy exudes a presence. Who is this boy… Ruhtra? “A fine man he will make Gwin if he follows in your footsteps. Carry on,” Was all Ector could reply. The horse and the boy passed by and as they did, Ector felt shivers run through his body. ‘Who is Gwin’s son really? There is something not quite right. He is not of Gwin’s body of that I feel sure.’ With the same vision reoccurring vision frequently interrupting Ector’s dreams, he decided to ask Merlin, the magician. Merlin was magical. He could perform all manner of enchantments; solving all kinds of problems using his supernatural powers. It was said Merlin was born of a human mother and a spirit father. No one knew him well, but everyone was amazed at his powers. Ector had seen Merlin use his magic recently, when aiding young Arthur to obtain the crown of England. Merlin, of all people would know the meaning of my visions, Ector decided. Gwin thought nothing about the early morning meeting with Sir Ector at the time but tonight for some reason, lying on his bed, the incident came vividly to his mind. Together with the fact that Gwin carried a very big secret about Ruhtra. He’d told no one.... No one.... No....one. Sleep overtook him and he drifted off mumbling ‘no one.... no one.’ He woke some time later with a start. Getting out of bed he went over to Jon, thinking he might need help. “Ruhtra… Ruhtra…are you all right? he said, lighting up the sleeping face with a tallow candle. Jon was sleeping peacefully and for a minute Gwin stood looked down at his sleeping face. ‘What a handsome boy he is. He looks nothing like Merde or me… Then, that is not surprising!’ Gwin got back into bed and lay with his arms behind his head. He thought and thought. His thoughts ran over and over the secret he had kept for many years. The day Sir Ector spied Ruhtra when he was very young in the courtyard, was the day Gwin first started to worry about the boy’s future. Now with the command to let Ruhtra be trained as a squire and the interest that Sir Ector was taking in him, Gwin felt he had lost the fight to save the boy’s identity. Not that Gwin himself knew Ruhtra’s true identity. All these years he had treated him as is own son. He knew one day the truth would catch up with him.

One night many years ago, Gwin had been locking the stables for the night when he looked in to say goodnight to Sir Ector’s horse, a fine stallion. Usually the horse waited for him but on this night the horse was already lying down. Gwin went into the stable to see if the horse was sick. There, lying by the warmth of the horse's belly was a tiny bundle. As Gwin stood staring the bundle moved. Out of the layers of clothes came a gurgling sound. He walked over to the bundle and the horse lifted his head, giving what looked like a wink and a tiny neigh. Gwin lifted up the bundle from the shelter of the horse’s belly, awed at what he had found. To his surprise he found wrapped up, a perfectly formed baby- only a few days old and swathed in beautiful woven clothes. All Gwin could think of was what might have happened had the horse moved. He knew in his heart that the horse was protecting this tiny little being. “Who could have left such a wee thing?” Gwin said to the horse. The horse gave a knowing neigh as if to answer Gwin’s question. Not used to babies as his first and only child was born yesterday, he stood awkwardly looking at this orphan child wondering what to do. He decided to take it home to his wife. Merde was suckling her own new baby and she would know what to do with this waif. Gwin locked up and headed for home, shielding the little bairn in his arms. Through the dark wood he walked, the wind whistling in strange tones with more like a gentle lullaby than a howl. Nearing his cottage he stopped. Heart wrenching noises came from inside the tiny cottage. He ran with his bundle towards the cottage. As he entered all he could see was Merde on her knees, stooping over their newborn child and wailing in dulcet tones that ripped through Gwin’s being. “Gwin. Gwin, our boy is dead,” Merde wailed. “He’s gone to the spirits. He just stopped breathing and his little heart is not beating...Oh...oh...oh...!” Gwin nearly dropped his tiny bundle with this news. He held it tightly and as he did the baby in his arms began to cry loudly. Merde looked at Gwin, rose and rushed at him. “What’s this? What’s this?” she asked, looking at the bundle in Gwin’s arms. “Is this my little boy? Is this my little boy?” she wailed. “Have the Spirits given him back to me in a new body? Please, please give him to me.” With that, she snatched the child and began to suckle it on her bosom. It made a tiny gurgle and quieted. Gwin stood and watched as she sat down by the hearth and coo-ed over her new charge. “It’s my little boy,” she said, peeking under the clothing. “It’s my little boy.” Gwin realized Merde was demented by the loss of their own child. He knew he would never get her to relinquish her hold. ‘What was he to do? Who owned the child that he had found? Surely no one wanted this child. Why else would they have left it in the stables?’ Gwin’s mind was in turmoil. ‘What to do for the best?’ In the end he

decided to do nothing. Watching Merde with the foundling, he decided it was all for the best. Merde removed the woven shawl from the sleeping baby and a piece of parchment fell to the ground. It had strange marks all over it. Gwin picked it up and pushed it into the folds of his clothing. Gwin could not read, but he knew it was writing. The old man living deep in the forest could read. He would take it to him in the morning. Next day after he had quietly buried his own departed son, he left for work. On his way, he stopped at another cottage. It was the home o f a very old but wise man. “What say you to this?” Gwin said, offering him the piece of parchment. The old men stared at it for a while and turned to Gwin. ‘To ye who finds this bundle,’ he started to read. ‘Think not of a name for the child. His name is ‘Ruhtra’ and no other. Take heed that harm does not befall you, should you forget.’ Puzzled, Gwin thanked the old man and left. When he got home to the cottage that night and saw how happy Merde was with the unknown child, he told her a tiny lie. He told Merde that he had a vision and the vision told him that the name of the child was ‘Ruhtra’ and no other. She just looked at him and nodded. She did not obviously care as long as she could keep the child. That was fourteen years ago and Ruhtra was now growing into a fine man. Gwin sighed and turned over on his side, wondering what the future would bring. Young King Arthur was on the throne of England and Ruhtra was being trained as a squire. Soon he would be old enough to fight for the young king and Gwin’s heart burst when he thought of how Ruhtra was now nearly close to death, lying on his bed and not even able to talk.

Chapter 6 Sir Ector sat in the hall of his castle. He had had rather too much to eat and drink. The festivities after dinner were beginning to bore him. The noise of laughter and brawling were making his head thump. He had seen so many would be jesters and minstrels. Recently he had seen more than enough. Good minstrels were easier to find than good jesters were. This was a problem. Young King Arthur was coming and he loved a joke and a laugh. Arthur loved being entertained by a jester and if Ector wanted to impress his king, he needed to find one or two good minstrels and jesters, soon. I must remember to tell the minstrels to sing about Arthur’s conquests. That would please him, he thought to himself. Sitting at the table over his wine Ector mulled over recent events. ‘That young lad of Gwin’s received the royal treatment from Merlin when he had been recently knocked off the horse.’ Ector was still smarting about Merlin telling him to give the boy that special potion and make sure he got back to the cottage safely. He knew there was something special about the boy but boys were two a penny. Merlin could surely find another. On second thought, Ector concluded, ‘Ruhtra was special, even if it’s because he kept coming into his visions and he did not know for what rhyme or reason.’ Ector got up from the table and the assembly rose. He bid them sit down and continue. He walked through the dark and dank corridors of his castle up to the turrets where he peered down over the copse where Gwin’s cottage lay hidden. ‘What was it Merlin said all those years ago when he related his vision to him?’ ‘It is near to time. You will understand in years to come but right now I want you to make sure that nothing befalls Gwin’s son, Ruhtra. Make him an accomplished squire, just as you did with young Arthur. I may need Ruhtra later. Take heed and take care.” It had almost been an order to Sir Ector from the otherwise, docile Merlin. Sir Ector remembered the amazement on his face when Merlin disappeared with a ‘whoosh’ and he had been left with a myriad of questions hanging in the air.

Chapter 7 But it was not Gwin’s son, Ruhtra, lying in the tiny cramped, smelly room trying to figure out what had happened to him. It was Jon Hooper. He had been spirited into the past for some unknown reason and he was trying to puzzle out, where he was and why he was there. Jon’s strength slowly flowed back into his body but his head still hurt. He also realized that he could not go on feigning sleep. He had to get up and decide how to get back home to his own family. He had to try to convince that funny woman and the large man that he had lost his memory. In this way, he could disguise the fact that he didn’t know who he was or where he was. It was the truth. He didn’t know what was going on. Keeping his mouth shut was one disguise until he figured out what he would do. Gwin and Merde seemed to believe him and said nothing about his lapse in memory. They patiently tended his health and waited for him to improve with all the love of two parents. As he grew stronger, he was able to drag his feet to the door for fresh air. When he finally left his stone bed, Merde presented him the queerest clothes to wear. He first put coarse old trousers on his legs. Next, she handed him a small coat thing, which was rather like a girl’s tunic. She fastened it round the waist with a leather strap. He felt stupid at first and then glad. He was pleased that his mates at school could not see him. After wearing it for a while he found it to be quite warm and comfortable. For his feet she handed him shoes made out of heavy leather. He had trouble getting used to wearing them as his feet shuffled rather than strode, but at least they kept his feet warm. As his strength grew back he managed to scuffle about the cottage. He was constantly amazed at the sight that greeted him when he went to the door...the sea.... those huge cliffs. ‘How was he going to escape? If he did manage, would he be able to get to a telephone to ring his parents? How far away were the shops? He could just murder a ‘Coke’ and a ‘Mac.' When he had been sick he had not cared what he ate but now he was stronger, he craved his own mother’s cooking...Oh! How I wish!’ he thought standing by the door breathing fresh air. ‘Yes, he was grateful that he had been found and saved but there was certainly a mix up here of identities. They had rescued the wrong boy. He was not Ruhtra, but Jon Hooper. He did not live in this quaint seaside place. He lived in a place called Avalon.’ His shoulders slumped at the thought of Avalon. He must get away. His real parents must be frantic.’

Chapter 8 Jon Hooper’s real parents were frantic. Although they had their Jon’s body lying in the hospital, they had no idea that his spirit had left his comatose body. They sat by his bed holding his hand, talking to him and crying over him. There was no reaction by him but they did not care. They thought if he could by any chances hear anything it should be from people that loved him. Jon wanted to get back to them. However, he had no idea how he was going to achieve his return home. He was getting better as Ruhtra, he thought, sitting on the rocks outside the cottage by the sea. He had to admit that he began to love the pounding and crashing of the waves as he dropped off to sleep. He only wished that the water were warm enough for him to swim. Each time he had ventured his toes in the water it was freezing. ‘Surely, they had some nice weather here? At home without his surfing he would wilt and die. Perhaps when it gets warmer, if I’m still here,’ and he sincerely hoped not, he could find something around here to make a surfboard. The days passed on and he grew stronger. He ventured farther away from the cottage but he still pretended to Gwin and Merde that he had lost his memory. In this way he was able to keep his thoughts to himself. He learned to say nothing. Instead, he nodded and mumbled a type of communication with his surrogate parents. One day he ventured into the woods above the cliffs. It was a source of amazement and wonderment to him. There were trees and plants he had never seen before and all sorts of creatures hopping about without fear of a foe. With his head down he had to walk and watch that he did not step on some funny little creatures that looked to him like mice, but were much bigger. The nearest creature he had seen to look like them was the Tasmanian devil. His parents had taken him to the Devil Park in Tasmania where he had been surrounded by similar creatures. The Tasmanian devil looked vicious but these little creatures looked tame and happy. He was so absorbed with his little playmates that he did not see the person approach from nowhere and stand in front of him. Startled he looked up at the strangest person he had ever seen standing in front of him, dressed in a long flowing gown of a dark material, decorated with strange looking symbols. He stared and his mind latched on to a thought. ‘Could this be Merlin, the Enchanter?’ The thought rushed through his mind. The hood fell back and a familiar voice said, “Jon...Jon...Come to me.” Jon looked harder.... he recognized the voice. It was Mr. Grice...his history teacher, dressed in a fancy costume. Relief passed over him. “Hello Mr. Grice. Thank goodness you found me!” “Jon...I am not who you think I am. Although I look just like your Mr. Grice, I am not. I had to use that identity as a disguise. I did not want to frighten you too much. I

am ‘Merlin’ the magician! Remember him from the Arthurian tales and legends? And, you are not where you think you are. You have been spirited back to the times of King Arthur. Here you are sorely needed!” Jon did not believe what he was hearing. “You have to be kidding!” “No, I am not!” said Merlin. “It is written thus; ‘Hie facet Arthurus Rex Quondam. Rex que Futures. Here lies Arthur, King that was and King that shall be.’ “This was written when Arthur died, on his grave. Many thought that he was not dead but tarried in another place. His body decayed, but his spirit lived on. You are that spirit!” Jon stood frozen and looked completely confused as Merlin continued. “I am too old now to help in Arthur’s doings. I have little time left. You have been chosen to bring back the spirit to Arthur. “Arthur, King of England is in grave danger and he needs you, his spirit, to help him. Your body may have lived in another time and age. However, you are still the spirit that has lived on for centuries... until it was needed. That time is now! “My time is not long. I will be soon gone.... and now you have a job to do.” “Me?” “Yes.... You! Not as you know yourself but as all that Ruhtra represents.” “I made a mistake in history. My powers are failing and through a spell that went wrong, I nearly killed off Arthur before his time. All I could do was bring you back to repair my error of judgment. Take care!” With that, Merlin disappeared in front of Jon’s eyes with a swish... like a puff of wind. Jon was stunned, shivers running throughout his body, tears welling up inside him. Tears of frustration and confusion then began to run down his face. He ran back to the sea as fast as he could, trampling everything under foot. He needed time to think! The tears blurred his sight. ‘He was in the middle ages! Not a movie set! How often had he dreamed of being here? The battles, the jousts...King Arthur and the legends of the Knights of the Round Table...Arthur....The mythical idealistic king. Mr. Grice, his history teacher called him Arthur.’ “No! No! This is all a dream. When I wake up, I will be home again!” Jon shouted to the sea. “If all that he had just been told by Merlin was true, why me?”

He sat for ages, crying, thinking, angry, confused and as the sun set, he tried to work out the deeper implications of what Merlin revealed to him. ‘Arthur was the bastard son of King Uther of Pendragon,’ he thought. ‘Hadn’t he been fostered at birth? How could Ruhtra have any links with Arthur? With a name like Rootra… How was that spelt?’ He took a stick and in the sand he wrote. ‘Rootra...Ruutra...Ruhtra.... Looking down at what he had written, a thought struck him. Hang on... RUHTRA...ARTHUR on…......Ruhtra was the mirror image of Arthur, a palindrome or something like that, Jon concluded with a sigh. ‘Surely, that was not how Ruhtra was spelt.... Or was it?’ He, Jon, was not Arthur. He was the spirit of Arthur... a mirror image of Arthur. What did that mean? Was the spirit of Arthur, really Ruhtra? Arthur. Ruhtra. He wrote the name repeatedly in the sand. “I get it!” he said breathlessly. “Ruhtra had been killed in the skirmish near the castle. His body had been returned to Gwin and Merde ...Dead. Merlin’s plan to get Ruhtra to watch over Arthur had gone astray.... He could not bring Ruhtra, the present spirit back to life so he had to call on the next best thing, the spirit that lived on... Me, Jon Hooper!” ‘Why couldn’t Merlin bring Ruhtra back to life? He had powers beyond any living being according to Mr. Grice. Why did Merlin say he was getting too old? Do magicians get old?’ His mind raced on with a thousand unanswered questions. Tired of all the mind games, still a little weak and completely confused, Jon lay down on the rock and went fast asleep. He would wake up from this bad dream…. he would! He woke up in his own smelly bed in the tiny cottage. When he looked around he realized it had not been a dream, it had been a nightmare. He was still here with these people in the stone cottage. As the memories of the night before came flooding back, he still could not believe all Merlin had told him. Gwin came and said he had found him last night fast asleep on a rock. What he did not add and wanted to know was how the words that were being slowly washed away in the tide got there. Gwin wondered who wrote them. He knew Ruhtra was not schooled. “Now you are up and about, it’s time you appeared at Sir Ector’s court.” Gwin said to Jon over a piece of bread and dripping. “Get your mother to give you some food and let’s go.” Jon dressed, collected a small helping of bread and dripping and followed Gwin up the grassy bank, through the forest hoping that he would see Merlin again, but didn’t, and out into clearing. As he looked over the clearing his breath was taken away. The grass was green and lush. People dressed in peculiar clothes tended the rows of wheat and corn, horse and carts stood by their owners. Small children and ran and played in the haystacks and behind all this on a hill, stood a large gray stone castle, surrounded by a moat filled

with water. To get into the castle, a drawbridge spanned the moat. Jon had seen this scene many times turning the pages of his history books. He had even tried to construct a scene like this from balsa wood but this one was real and larger than life. ‘Wow!’ He thought in amazement. ‘Look at that!’ He followed Gwin across the green grass, over the moat bridge and into the courtyard of the castle. The wonders of all his dreaming stretched in front of him but the real thrill of it all was a familiar scene filled with all the smells of the past. Jon stood awed. What he saw in the courtyard both frightened and excited him. He was in a life-sized set of one of his mediaeval battle scenes. There were knights in armor sparring with swords and spears all around the courtyard. There were horses in battle dress with ‘Coats of Arms’ blazoned all over them as they charged back and forth across the courtyard. The courtyard was alive with action and for Jon, wonder. Gwin explained to Ruhtra that whilst he had been sick, all this activity was going on in preparation for the arrival of the king. ‘Which king?’ thought Jon. ‘Was it really to be Arthur?’ A young squire bearing a huge smile on his face came over the courtyard toward them. Gwin smiled and Jon followed his lead. “Ruhtra! Good to see you up and well!” the young boy exclaimed. Jon looked dismayed. Gwin interceded. “Ruhtra, this is your best friend Moran. Don’t you remember him?” Gwin was embarrassed at Jon’s silence. He quickly explained to Moran that the bang on Ruhtra’s head had caused him to loose some of his memory. “Today, I have brought him to court to help jog some of his memory. To see if anything is familiar to him.” “Does that mean you will not take part in the jousting? said Moran. “You are one of our best. I love the way you can wield a sword. Like none that I know.” Jon stood quietly assessing the situation. This is news to me! And what a strange way to speak, he thought. “You will be sorely missed, if that is so,” Moran went on to say. “What say you Ruhtra? Want to have a try? It may help jog your memory when you try to stop me beating you,” said Moran with a lilting laugh. Gwin was about to say ‘no’ when Jon interrupted him, his adrenaline pumping. ‘To be able to use a real sword...Wow!’ “I would love to have a go although I fear that I may not be as good as I used to be.” Why was he talking this way? Jon puzzled. Where were those peculiar words coming

from?’ He walked over with Moran and was given a banded mail suit to put on. He took off his tunic and struggled into the armor. ‘I’ve painted many of these on my models but I never thought I would get to wear one,’ he thought as excitement and apprehension crept over him. He found the suit heavy and awful but nothing compared to the heavy and clumsy helmet he was given to put on his head. A sword and shield were thrust in his hands. Dressed for combat he felt that he looked like real dork! ‘How could anybody even move in these things,’ he thought, trying to lift his legs and move his head. ‘What would his friends at home say if they could see him? This is the one time I would have liked them to see me and perhaps even take a photograph!’ A hooded squire came over to engage Jon in friendly combat. The squire bowed and made Jon a vow to fight in friendly combat and only as an exercise of arms. Jon reasoned that what he was really saying was that he was not going to attempt to kill him. Jon was very relieved at this and very impressed at the politeness of the hooded squire. From the minute Jon was given the sword, he felt an energy flow through his body. He did not have to think, all the moves came so naturally to him. He was constantly amazed when he missed the oncoming sword and even more amazed when his sword stopped at the throat of his opponent. By now, the entire courtyard full of people stopped to watch. Men were shouting encouragement to Jon and he loved it. He quickly remembered the vow and removed the sword near the throat of his opponent. “God, I could have killed him.... Me....Jon,” he mumbled. Above the din a voice shouted, “Stop!” Instantly all the people in the courtyard stood in awe of the voice. A finely dressed man approached Jon. “What is your name?” “Jo...Ruhtra.... Sir.” said Jon, hoping that he had the ‘Sir’ right. “Yes, Sir Ector. He is my son,” interrupted Gwin “ He’s recently been injured and has just left his bed. His memory is not too good. Please understand.” Sir Ector’s memory jolted and he realized that under all the armor was the blond boy with clear blue eyes. Watching him spar with the squire he had been conscious that this was no ordinary dueler. He sighed with relief. The movements of this boy with the sword showed that he and Merlin had done well. Ector regained his composure and said to Gwin, “If it was anyone but you Gwin, I would say that you were being insolent! But come… I wish to talk with you.” He took Gwin aside. “The king’s messenger has brought tidings. The king will visit in a short time. The king will need to be entertained and so I order you to have all the available horses ready for jousting. Make sure Ruhtra has plenty of practice. I would like the king to see him.”

“But...Sir Ector.... He is but out of his bed. . He might not be well enough.” “From what I have just witnessed he is fitter than any man!” retorted Sir Ector angrily. With that, he strode off thinking of the magical moments that he had just witnessed and how it would please young Arthur. On their way back from the castle, Gwin told Jon what Sir Ector said. Jon said nothing. He had a strangest feeling he was about to find out what task he had been sent back to the middle ages to accomplish. Gwin kept quiet but he knew Ruhtra’s future was now out of his hands. He also was caught in the magic of Jon’s flashing sword.

Chapter 9 Jon’s real parents sat by his hospital bed in St Helen’s and prayed. Jon lay on the bed like a statue, with no color on his face, without any movement in his limbs. Although he was immobile, his mother at one point was convinced she saw him move. However, he did not. Jon’s father informed her that it was just a trick of the mind; something that happens when you look long enough. One night they received a scare when they were asleep at home. The shrill of the telephone in the middle of the night, woke them. “Mr. Hooper, I do not want to alarm you but I think you should come right away. Jon may not see the night through.” They arrived at the hospital to find the doctors gathered around Jon’s bed, talking softly. His mother’s first reaction was to shout. “He’s already dead! My Jon is dead!” It took a while for the doctors to calm her and tell her that Jon was still alive. “No, he is not dead!” said one of the doctors said. However, we will need to watch him closely throughout the night. His parents sat holding Jon’s hand and praying. When dawn came, Jon was still alive. He had lived through the night and his mother and father cried and sighed with relief. Exhausted, the doctors told them to go home and rest. After a long sleep, fueled by her dreams, Jon’s mother got out of bed and went into Jon’s room. “All his familiar things are as he left them,” she cried. “His clothes and shoes are scattered all over the floor and his bed is roughly made. “She bent down to pick up his things, deciding to leave them just as they were. She picked up a history book. Looking at the spine, she saw it was a book about the middle ages. She placed it on the shelf next to his lead soldiers. Tears cascaded down her face. “Will Jon ever be well enough to enjoy this again?” she sobbed. She stood crying until Jon’s father found her in the room. He put his arms around her and they cried together. It was the first time that they had been able to cry away the delayed shock of Jon’s accident. His father recovered. “ Come on dear. We can only hope and pray that our Jon will be returned to us. Let’s have faith.” Later in the day, they returned to the hospital and Jon was comatose with machines and monitors all around him. “He looks so peaceful,” his father said, soothing his brow.

Chapter 10 King Arthur approached Sir Ector’s castle with Merlin the Magician. Merlin accompanied Arthur everywhere because he was Arthur’s wisest and most powerful friend. He gave advice and helped Arthur out of any trouble as he had done for King Uther, Arthur’s father. Magicians like Merlin were not human beings. When they receive their training by a master magician they knew that the powers invested in them were only potent for a certain time. It may be years in our time. It may be centuries. No one knew how long his or her powers would last. However, Merlin knew instinctively his time had come. With all his wisdom and knowledge, he knew he had not long to live. His own master magician, Bleise, had told him that his end was in sight. Merlin was becoming frustrated and agitated. Some of his powers were becoming very erratic. Some magic he could no longer perform. He had a strong inkling that his powers were failing when he failed to bring Ruhtra back to life, so he stored all the power he could muster to bring Jon back and fulfill his promise to keep Arthur safe, but it had made him very, very tired. Armed with this knowledge, Merlin decided he had to work fast. Spanning over centuries, especially centuries in the future, was one of the hardest acts a magician could perform and he was not as young as he used to be. This latest magic had cost him his life. He also knew he could do nothing about it. It was written as his fate and he had to accept it. Merlin informed King Arthur before they left for Sir Ector’s castle that he was loosing his powers and he was about to die. Arthur shook his head. “Ha! Since you know all this, then use your craft to prevent it!” Arthur said, dismissing Merlin’s ideas as fanciful. “No Merlin, I won’t accept that you are dying! You are immortal and you will live on forever. Now get you off to Sir Ector’s and see that all is ready for me. I will follow anon.” “No,” said Merlin with a huge sigh, “it will not be possible for me to live forever. What will happen to me cannot be undone.” He saw by the look on Arthur’s face that Arthur was not convinced. He was dismissed. Recently, Merlin had been cast under the spell of a lady of Arthur’s court, called Nimue. She enthralled Merlin. The first time he saw her he was smitten. Walking through Arthur’s castle one night he stopped at one of the minor halls. Sitting alone by a blazing fire was the most beautiful creature Merlin had ever seen .She was dressed in shimmering gold, her braided hair hung down to the floor and she was bending over the fire throwing dust into the flames. As she did so, the dust caught fire and sparkled like twinkling stars. She mumbled words as she threw the dust and. Involuntarily Merlin’s body froze and his mind cascaded into a trance. ‘Your time is up,’ a voice in his head chanted. ‘Finish your tasks.’ The trance lasted but for a few

seconds and Merlin shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the woman. ‘ It is she,’ he said to himself, staring long and hard. ‘My nemesis. In her hands lies my fate. She is the one sent to take me away. She has learned her lessons well,’ Merlin thought with remorse. He could not help himself. He fell further and further under Nimue’s spell. Consequently, she made him follow her everywhere, beguiling him with her charm. She even made him promise never to use his magic against her although she knew he had few powers left. That promise was to be Merlin’s undoing! Nimue danced with delight. She knew she was ready to get rid of him. “Hee! hee! Heee!” she chanted, moving around her circle of magic stones. “He is ready! He is ready! Oh! Oh! Powers of mine, weave your magic spell.” She sat in the middle of the stones and waited for her final move to become clear. “I see! I see!” she said with delight, the plot becoming clearer. Nimue was ready to make her final move on Merlin. At the castle, she beguiled and bewitched him to show her the enchanted cave by the sea. Merlin, having fallen into the magic of the web she weaved around him, was very pleased to show her. “Better and better,” she thought walking towards the wondrous cave. When they reached the cave Merlin eagerly showed her the charmed stone that guarded the opening. “Show me how the magic of the stone works,” she pleaded. They went inside and she further persuaded him to show her how to move the huge stone to seal up the opening. Merlin did so willingly, although he knew it might be his last magic. With a great deal of concentration, as his powers were dwindling, the stone moved across the opening. Merlin deeply in a trance with his eyes closed did not see Nimue slip out before the stone closed the opening, leaving him inside. Merlin was locked in the cave and try as he could, he could not make the stone open for him and beat the force of Nimue’s spell on the outside. He was defeated and sadly, he knew his time had come. Nimue stood on the outside looking at the stone and gnashing her hands together, satisfied that the stone could not move. She walked away up the side of the hill, laughing to herself and her cleverness of having rid herself and the world of the tiresome Merlin. She danced away, leaving him to rot. Near this cave on this particular day that Jon was out exercising one of Sir Ector’s horses on the beach below the cave. He was walking the horse over rocks into the next sandy cove when he heard muffled noises coming from the cave above. Gosh! There is someone caught in that cave, he thought, looking around at the tide coming in. He had little time, he realized, before the rocks would be covered by the

incoming tide so he led the horse quickly to the entrance. “Hello there,” he shouted, “can I help?” Looking at the huge stone covering the entrance, he tried to push the stone from the opening. He doubted that even a hundred strong men would have been able to budge it. A voice replied from inside and Jon immediately recognized it as Mr. Grice, alias Merlin. “Mr. Grice, Mr. Grice,“ he shouted. “Can you hear me? Will I go and get help?” “Ruhtra, Ruhtra, do not bother! I will never see the light of day again...Go! You have your job to do...Go and be the spirit of our king... Watch over him and see that no harm befalls him. I am depending on you. When his time comes take care of him and take him home to Avalon with you. There he will stay until it is time for him to come again. I give you the power of the mighty sword. It is all I have left to give. Use it well.” “Mr. Grice, Mr. Grice,” Jon shouted to Merlin as he heard the chant of a spell coming from inside. “When will I know Arthur’s time has come?” “You will know!” Merlin answered in a weak voice. “Your time will come. You will be gone, but beware of Nimue!” “Mr. Grice.... Merlin.... Does this mean I’ll be able to go back home to my family and my friends?” Jon could not hear Merlin answer. A large wave crashed over him and he, and the horse were swept away. The horse swam for his life and Jon clung on, for his life, until the horse brought Jon to safety. Returning to the cave with Sir Ector and his men on the next tide, Jon could not find the opening in the rock, nor the cave. “It’s disappeared! Just as Merlin and Mr. Grice have disappeared!” he said to Sir Ector, feeling strange. Sir Ector shook his head and thought. ‘The boy is very strange.’ Jon was more distressed than anyone at Merlin’s death. The one person he could relate to, gone. After Sir Ector left he sat on the rock, tears splattering down his face. ‘Real men,’ his father had often told him, ‘do not cry,’ but Jon found it hard to hold back the tears. How was he going to get out of this mess and back out of this nightmare? He decided that he just had to come up with a game plan. ‘It is all I can do.’ With that resolve he went to his favorite place by the sea to think. He sat on his favorite rock and thought through all the possibilities. ‘Let’s pretend... only... it’s real, he thought. ‘Let’s pretend that I am playing war games with Troy.” Jon started to talk to himself. ‘I would have to come up with some strategy to get me out of a fix or move me through the game with as few casualties as possible.”

Jon was very competitive and always played the game to win. ‘If it were a pretend game what would I do? What would be my strategy?’ ‘One, I could just do nothing. The result might mean that I would never get out of here. Ever!’ ‘Two, I could try to escape by myself...Escape to where? How can I find a way forward through centuries? I have seen no sign of anything that resembles the 21st Century. If I ran away, would I run through much of the same?... Would there be nothing I could recognize?’ ‘Three, I could try to do what Merlin wanted me to do and hope eventually this would lead me home.... home to my family! Even school would not look so bad after all this.’ He gestured to the wind. Deciding the first solution was not alternatives and he did not want to spend the rest of his life in this time warp, missing the creature comforts of his home and family, he examined the next solution. Number two was impossible because he had nowhere and no way to escape. ‘Only number three is a possibility,’ he conceded. ‘How can I get closer to king Arthur now Merlin has gone?’ An idea flashed through his head. ‘If only I knew a little more of Arthur’s history. If only I was a brave knight and I could get nearer to Arthur. If I could get to Arthur then I could perhaps work out how to save him and then get home to the 21st Century but how do I get to Arthur?’ he asked himself as he idly threw stones into the water with frustration. ‘I know I am an accomplished squire. I have been practicing every day and I am amazed at how good I am and how much I enjoy dueling and jousting. I feel sure that I will get to meet the king soon. Sir Ector has already told me he would present Ruhtra to Arthur, perhaps after a feast. If I do meet Arthur, I have to arrest his attention by doing something out of the ordinary or spectacular but what?... By becoming a knight?’ Jon considered the next problem. ‘If I am to try to become a knight then I have to get rid of that ridiculous name, ‘Ruhtra,’ before someone twigs it is a palindrome of ‘Arthur.’ ‘I know not many people could read and write during the middle ages but I cannot take the risk. Monks, for instance, Monks are learned...monks!’ A bright solution skimmed through his head as he thought this through. ‘Maybe I could go and read some of the manuscripts about Arthur the monks have written in the Abbey.’ Jon knew there was an Abbey close by because Gwin had told him. He knew monks were responsible for writing all the happenings of King Arthur. Perhaps he could brush up on his sketchy history by reading some of their manuscripts. He rushed with

excitement to find Gwin. “Gwin. Know you where the Abbey lies?” Jon asked with unfamiliar words. “I have forgotten.” “A couple of leagues hence on from the other side of the castle. You should remember. We have been there many times. We used to stay the night when we tired.” Jon did not remember, for obvious reasons. He would have to go and find it on his own. He borrowed a horse, told Gwin he might stay the night at the Abbey to see if it would jog his memory, and set off to find it. He rode like the wind. The cold air rushed passed his face and he felt free. “This beats even skateboard riding!” he shouted to the wind as the horse rode at a terrific speed across barren land. He had no idea what constituted a league and so he just rode, hoping it would not be too far. He finally galloped across a ridge and in the distance was the Abbey. It was sundown when he knocked on the gates. The gatekeeper recognized Ruhtra and opened the gates, saying ‘Benedicite.’ Jon had no idea what this meant but he repeated it back to the monk. It sounded to him like, ‘hello’ and ‘welcome.’ Entering the Abbey grounds he noticed it was not much different from the castle except that all the inhabitants were monks dressed in rough brown sackcloth habits. These monks will have vowed to give up all worldly pleasures to serve God, Jon thought as he got down off his horse. A monk led Jon through the quiet cloisters. Although there were many people around the cloisters there were no raucous sounds, like back at the castle. These monks are very ordered, Jon mused as faintly in the background he could hear chanted prayers coming from he presumed, the church. The monk led him into a huge dining room surrounded by bare stonewalls and filled with long refectory tables and benches. Indicating to Jon to sit down, the monk sat beside him. Other monks filed in and took their seats at the tables in silence. Jon realized that he arrived in time for supper, which was eaten in silence. The meager meal was eaten quickly and then Jon was taken to a small room. The musty smell, the simple furniture and the old man that greeted him, overwhelmed him. He presumed it was the Abbot standing in front of and he bowed his head. “How is your father?” the Abbot inquired quietly. Why are you here on your own my son? You know the moors are treacherous at night. Why did your father let you travel alone?” Jon told a lie. “ Father, I was thinking of becoming a monk. On the spur of the moment I came to observe life here at the abbey, before I make a decision.” “I would especially like to see the place where the monks write books,” Jon said. The Abbot rose and summoned a monk. “See Ruhtra, the son of Gwin, to the library.”

After Jon left the Abbot turned and said to a monk working in the room. “I do not believe Ruhtra simply because there was something different about the boy. He looked like Ruhtra but he has changed. He seems to carry an aura around his presence. I cannot see it but I feel it. Granted he would be a great asset to this order. I could train him to take over after me but I doubt if that is his reason for being here. I will have to watch him very carefully.” Jon was taken down the cloistered passages where he noticed monks sitting in corners and alcoves. Some were scratching away with a quill pens. Others were painting gold letters. Jon walked past and the monks did not turn to look at him. They were intent on what they were doing. Jon looked closer at the quill pens. He knew the nibs were made from bird feathers and the paper was probably calfskin parchment but he had no idea how the ink was made. They passed into a large room. Looking around, he felt as if the walls were about to cave in on him. Piled high with tomes of books, the massive leather-bound volumes that lined the walls were making him feel claustrophobic. He imagined they were about to fall on him. He shivered. There were books everywhere: on desks, on the floor and up the walls. The silence was ghostly. All Jon could hear was the scratching of pens and the occasional cough. A small bell rang. No one spoke but every monk rose and left. Jon followed. Another service was held and then a monk showed Jon to a bed in a large dormitory. Still no one spoke. He fell asleep in the eerie silence. It was such a contrast to the loud crashing waves outside the cottage. More bells woke him in the middle of the night and the monks rose without a sound and filed out of the dormitory. Jon followed them again, thinking it was morning. He came out of the dormitory to find it was still the middle of the night. He kneeled throughout the prayers and half asleep, got up, and followed the monks back to the dormitory, falling promptly back to sleep. He was woken at dawn, another service, a meal and then back down the cloistered passages to view the manuscripts. ‘Definitely not my kind of lifestyle,’ he thought as he prepared to go to the scriptorium for the day. He decided that before he could glance through the books, he should show interest in the work of the scribes. Later he decided, he might ask them to show me books written on the exploits of King Arthur. The silence ensued. Jon remembered that there were orders of monks that were sworn to silence. ‘This must be one. This must be a silent order.’ Jon had an urge to shout, ‘Yabba, Dabba Do!’ to break the silence. ‘This would drive me silly if I had to do it every day!’ When he viewed the manuscripts, it was his turn to be awed. Many hours and work had gone into decorating just one page of scroll. ‘Was it calligraphy?’ Gold letters were adorned by very elaborate colored decoration. It was stunning and Jon wished Mr. Grice could see it. On second thoughts, ‘Mr. Grice, alias Merlin, would probably write like this.’ Jon was left alone for a short time while the monks went off to one of their many

services for the day. He began to try and read the unfamiliar words. He was not good at spelling but some of this spelling is unreal, he thought. ‘Makes my spelling look good!’ It took him quite a while to master the quaint writing and then he became thoroughly absorbed in Arthur’s tales. The monks had no real idea what Jon was doing. Many watched as he skimmed through the tales and assumed he was admiring the decoration. However one of them realized he was reading the books, line by line. He rose quietly and went off to report to the Abbot. The Abbot face contorted curious. “It backs my former theories about the boy. There was certainly something different.” Toward evening, the Abbot came to speak to Jon. “Who are you my son?” Jon told another white lie. “As I hope to be a monk someday and especially a scribe, I thought I would just come and see what you do.’ he immediately sensed that he had not been convincing in his answer. Quickly he added, “I’ve looked at a lot of pages and I think that I could do this.... when I learn to read!” He got up from the table, urgent to get out of the monastery. “I must go now before it gets too dark. My father will be expecting me,” he said, taking his leave by thanking the Abbot and making a quick escape. The Abbot stood unbelieving. Strange feelings crept over him about the boy, and he made no move to stop him leaving. “This boy is on a mission and I must let him go forward to do whatever he has to do.’ He said with a puzzled expression on his face. “God has something to do with this!” “Phew!” Jon shouted to the wind, riding back across the barren moor. “I’d better get my act together and think before I leap. I could have ended up burnt at the stake for a little mistake like that!” For once he was pleased to see the quaint little cottage come into view. He had learned quite a lot about Arthur’s battles so far and deduced who Arthur’s enemies were. ‘If only I had my own history books with me, I would know what happened next. My history here on in is going to be very sketchy.’ More cheerful after his adventure and fulfilling a step in his plan, he considered his next plan. In a small way, he was enjoying himself. There were times when he became quite excited. He was still homesick, but this new role was quite something. “To be a good knight. No, not a good... but a great knight!” he chanted, repeatedly to convince himself. Until Arthur’s arrival, Moran, his new friend or Ruhtra’s old friend, became Jon’s constant companion. They jousted, rode horses and practiced archery. Jon admitted to himself that he would never in his wildest dreams be able to do these things at home. Added to this he was becoming fond of Moran and longed for the warm sunny days when they could go swimming together. Jon and Moran discovered a huge old turtle shell that had been washed up along the beach. Jon’s mind ticked over. “I can clean this shell and use it as a surf board.”

Moran looked at him with a quizzical look on his face. “First I have to teach you how to swim!” Moran looked at him with fear. Jon ran to the edge of the beach. “Rip off your clothes. It’s not too cold,” he said, running down the stony beach. A shudder and then a smile passed over Moran’s face as he watched Jon frolic in the water. He stripped off his clothes and tentatively followed Jon. “Lie down in the water. Don’t worry, I’ve a hold on you.” Jon brought him into knee deep water and demonstrated the movements “ Come on. Move your arms and legs both at the same time. “I can’t, I can’t,” shouted Moran. “I am going to drown.” “Trust me. Keep trying. You can do it! There, see, you did three strokes on your own.” Eventually, Moran was swimming like a fish in water. Next Jon showed him how to surf the waves. Merde and Gwin stood on the beach not knowing what to make of it. “That knock on the head has certainly changed Jon. I’m afraid for his future. He’s far more daring than he used to be, don’t you think Merde?” “He’s like a different son. Much more concerned about us and interested in everything around him.” “Yes, I know what you mean. There’s definitely something different.” Moran had a younger sister named, Utter. Jon caught glimpses of her watching them from the beach. Moran said that she was very quiet and never bothered him. Jon wondered idly if Utter could come with him to his real home- to teach his sisters to be seen and not heard! One game he enjoyed with Moran was playing pretend armies. Gwin taught Jon how to whittle wood and in his spare time, he would sit on the beach and whittle away figures of knights and foot soldiers. He had quite an army by now. The one he loved the best, was King Arthur. On other occasions, having no idea how Arthur went about battle strategy, he listened avidly to Moran describe some of Arthur’s battles. He was appalled to learn there were not too many strategies! It appeared both groups rode straight into a battle, face to face. Little or no maneuverings were used. They appeared to go straight at each other and some of Moran’s descriptions of the machines used in battles...the battering rams, the moveable sheds, the arblast, and the mangons did not prepare Jon for the sights he was to encounter later.

The days passed pleasantly enough. Jon became accustomed to the dirt and the squalor. No one seemed to mind that you never washed or bathed everyday. He got used to the smell of body odor, grease, and cooking. After a while, he thought his life quite pleasant. Not having to go to school every day pleased him immensely. At least he did something everyday here that he loved. But he still missed his own home and family. ‘It will be time to meet King Arthur tomorrow,’ he thought after hearing that after the death of Merlin, Arthur was over his grief. ‘Time to put my plan in action and move one step nearer returning home.’

Chapter 11 Jon’s real mother and father were summoned to the intensive care unit at St. Helen’s hospital. The neurosurgeon wanted to speak to them. He informed them that Jon’s brain was swelling more and the pressure was becoming too dangerous. If there were no improvement, they would have to operate again, and this would be his second brain surgery in four days. His parents gave their consent, should the operation be needed and waited anxiously throughout the night. In the morning although Jon had not stirred, the monitors showed he was deteriorating. There was no choice but to operate. The nurses took Jon into the operating theater. It was to be a long wait, with the knowledge that if the operation were not successful, Jon would die. The pressure on the brain would cause extensive damage. “The operation will take about six to eight hours,” the surgeon told the Mr. and Mrs. Hooper. “I know it is not any good telling you both to go home. If you want to wait I’ll let you know as soon as we’re finished.” After a hours of sitting and waiting, Jon’s mother looked up, surprised to see Jon’s history teacher, Mr. Grice and his science teacher, Ms. Newman come in to the waiting room. They sat down beside them and listened to the latest bulletin on Jon. Mr. Grice then mumbled in a strange voice, something very odd.... something his parents did not quite understand. “Never fear, Ruhtra will re-appear.” In a normal voice he hastily mumbled, “I hope all will go well for Jon.” They both rose and rushed out through the waiting room door without saying ‘goodbye.’ Jon’s parents were left with their mouths open and a feeling that a whirlwind had just passed through the room. “Strange man that Mr. Grice,” said Jon’s father. “I cannot quite understand why Jon hero worshipped him so much. Never mind, it was nice of them to come even though the woman said nothing!” It was long day waiting for the result of the operation. The chairs were uncomfortable and the food at the cafeteria awful. As they sat down to eat in both their thoughts they reminisced about Jon. Jon’s father thought how he might have spent more time with his son. And above all, he should have told him how much he loved him. If he comes out of this that will be the first thing he would do. When he was well, he promised to take him fishing and swimming. ‘Perhaps we could learn to ride horses together.’ Jon had always wanted to learn to ride since he was a little boy but his father had thought it too dangerous. ‘Jon loves horses…Just look at all those armies of his.’ Jon’s father went on to admonish himself for the neglect of his son. ‘Perhaps I should also take more interest in his hobby.’

Jon’s mother wished she had him alive to hug. ‘He is such a good-looking boy, she thought. I love to see him running on the beach, his blond hair shining in the sun as he plunges into the water.... Please God...Spare him. We need him more than you do.’ The surgeon finally came in at about 6:30 p.m. By this time, Jon’s parents looked as if they were about to collapse through the endless tensions of waiting “How is he doctor?” they both asked at once. “He did better than we expected. He survived and all his vital signs are good. There is every hope he can still make a full recovery but again we will have to watch and wait. The coma may end soon or it may continue for weeks to come.” Both Jon’s parents sighed with relief, their faces flushed with love and concern. The surgeon went on to explain. “Jon is not out of danger yet but we’ve lived through another day and another trauma. We can only hope.”

Chapter 12 That is exactly what Jon was thinking in another time and place. Not from his hospital bed in the 21st Century but on the day he actually met King Arthur. The High Feast of Pentecost was prepared for Arthur in the hall of the castle. The feast took place in the middle of the day in the great hall of the castle. Jon found it strange that the main meal of the day was always around lunchtime, probably because everyone rose so early in the mornings. The high table was at one end of the hall where the King, Queen Guinevere, and their best knights like Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain sat in a row. The rest of the court sat at long trestle tables along the sides of the great hall. The floor was strewn with sweet smelling flowers, fresh straw and rushes. Small basins of metal for the guests to wash their hands stood at the door. Moran told Jon they were called ‘lavers’. Rather like a finger bowl, thought Jon. There were no knives and forks on the table. “Wowee!” Jon shouted, disgusted to find out that most of these important people ate with their hands. Although chaffed by his mother at home for not washing his hands before a meal, for not using his knife and fork properly and sitting up when he was at the table, he knew she would die if she knew about these table manners. Above the high table Sir Ector had erected a canopy of fine cloth and Jon thought that it looked unreal, shimmering and bright. ‘It must be real gold!’ he thought. ‘How many armies could he buy if he had that to sell?’ The trumpet sounded and the king and queen entered, with the rest of the nobleman following with all the pomp and ceremony of a full court. Most of the noblemen at the high table were ‘Knights of the Round Table’ and it sent a tingle running through Jon standing in awe, trying to name them. “Which is Sir Lancelot? I can see Sir Ector and I think that must be Sir Gawain,” he asked Moran who sat beside him, not too far away from Arthur’s table. Moran pointed out Sir Lancelot and as Jon looked more closely, he couldn’t get over the resemblance of Sir Lancelot to his friend, Troy. ‘Cor…that’s uncanny,’ he thought. ‘Wish it were Troy!’ He looked around to see if there was anyone else’s face he could recognize. Sir Ector had told Jon he was to be presented to the king during the feast and he was to remain close at hand. This would take place after all the pomp and ceremony. The food came ceremoniously out from the kitchens on large platters- huge pies called pasties, cooked fowl and meats. Only after Arthur started to eat, could everyone start and then the noise grew deafening.

Jon became conscious of a sonorous voice amid the noise. A voice he had heard many times before. He looked around and his eyes cast on a lady dressed in gold, sitting on Arthur’s table. “Who is that lady?” he asked the person sitting next to him. “That is Nimue.” Loud alarm bells rang in Jon’s head. It was the voice of his science teacher, ‘Ms. Newman in the disguise of Nimue or was it the other way around?’ The person added, “Gossip has it that she is said to be a sorceress and is to take over Merlin’s tasks.” Louder bells clashed in Jon’s head. He had seen the gold clad woman before. She had been outside the cave where Merlin died. She was walking up the hill when Jon shouted for help. He had thought it funny at the time that she disappeared but now it was all clear to him. ‘Merlin’s warning… Merlin’s death… The cave that had vanished when he returned with Sir Ector. She… was the one responsible for Merlin’s death.’ Jon’s heart pounded. He looked over to her and she smiled. Not a pleasant smile, more of a leer. He instinctively knew that she was now the enemy and would try to stop him achieving his task of looking after Arthur and returning home. ‘One more person for me to worry about,’ he thought ruefully. ‘But why?’ he asked himself. ‘What are her motives besides enthralling and mesmerizing people, seducing them until she gets what she wants?’ Jon sat deep in thought, trying to puzzle out the latest conundrum set by Nimue’s involvement. ‘She killed Merlin and has placed herself firmly in Arthur’s Court. For what reasons?’ He sighed. ‘I fear it will not be long before I find out.’ He sat listening to the unusual sound of the minstrels pondering the deeper implications of the unfurling mystery. Frustrated at not being able to hear the music properly because of the cacophony of voices around him, his mind drifted back to mornings’ happenings. During the early morning Sir Ector arranged to amuse the king with friendly combat tournaments of skill and bravery. Jon knew during these tournaments he needed to make an impression to arrest the king’s attention and so he played to the audience. The pageantry that went with the tournament was the coolest thing Jon had ever experienced. Sitting on his horse at one end of a large grassy field with all his armor weighing him down, he looked around. Surrounding the field were two low, wooden fences. Behind these fences were the ordinary people. He saw Merde watching with intent. He knew she would be praying that he didn’t get hurt.

Outside the fences were the viewing galleries covered in canopies and where the king and the nobles sat. Opposite Jon at the other end of the field was his opponent, ready to joust. Everyone was cheering but when the trumpets blared loudly, Jon all but fell off his horse in frights. “ Cripes! That’s loud. No need to frighten me to death,” he muttered. He sat upright on the horse and stared at his opponent sitting at the other end of the field, both waiting patiently to be called to battle. The trumpets sounded again. This time Jon and his opponent galloped toward each other. He felt comfortable, forging ahead with his oncoming lance with all eyes on him. “Now, here we go!” he shouted. Picking up the pace, the excitement and adrenaline surging through his body. The two opponents lances clashed with a loud grating noise in passing. Jon sat upright on his horse as he passed and at the edge of the field he turned to gallop back. He saw to his amazement that the other knight had fallen off his horse and had no weapons at hand. The spectators cheered wildly. Jon won his first tournament. He continued to win all his tournaments throughout the morning and was proclaimed the outright winner of the day. Everyone was shouting, ‘Ruhtra …Ruhtra.’ Jon had forgotten that was his name as he was presented to Arthur. Arthur graciously nodded to him and the crowed clapped in appreciation of his bravery “That was really unreal!” he shouted to Moran who waited to help him off with the armor. “Never in my wildest dreams could I beat that for a thrill.” Trumpets sounded again in the hall, bringing Jon out of his revelry. He knew it was time and he had to put his mind to the present problem. He thought through his next move. ‘What would he do? Without Merlin to help him, he had to go it alone. With presumably Nimue against him, he would have to act quickly. It was time for something spectacular perhaps not here tonight, but soon.’ A slow plan formed in his mind as the trumpets blew again to mark the start of the audiences with the king. It was time. Sir Ector indicated for Jon to move to the head table. Jon walked up to the table wondering if anyone could see his knees knocking. ‘This,’ he thought alarmingly to himself, ‘is worse than being sent to his school principal.’ He stood in front of his spirit brother. “Sire, King Arthur, God Bless you and all the fair fellowship of the Round Table.” The words sprouted out of his mouth. Jon all but giggled. ‘Where did all that language come from?’ Continuing, he said, “I introduce myself as one of your most devoted servants.” Arthur was visually taken a back by this youth’s speech and confidence. He stood

erect looking down on Jon, mesmerized by his manner and looks. ‘Who does he look like?’ What Jon did not realized was how much he looked like Arthur. Mirrors in medieval times were scarce and Jon had never seen himself as Ruhtra, nor had he seen Arthur before today. He had no idea how close a resemblance there was. He stood quietly, the whole court falling into silence. “What prize do you wish for your success on the field today young squire?” Arthur asked hesitantly. “But three wishes, Sire,” said Jon quickly, while it was silent and before he lost his confidence. “May I speak?” Arthur nodded. “One, I will ask one wish now and the other two, a month hence.” He waited for a reaction from Arthur and decided to carry on now that he had gained momentum. Arthur, still amazed at the boy’s dare, plus intrigued by why this boy about his own age worried him so responded. “Ask and you shall have your wishes granted.” ‘Great!’ thought Jon, continuing with his plan. He needed to get into Arthur’s Court so that he could observe what went on inside the court. He needed to watch all around Arthur...find his friends... know his enemies. “Sire, all I ask is that you give me meat and drink sufficient for this month.” “This is but a simple ask,” replied the King. “I never refuse a friend or foe. But tell me what is your name?” “I can not tell you,” Jon said simply. Gasps sounded around the court as the king studied Jon. Arthur was thinking that he might as well play along with this amazing youth. ‘He is baiting me and I wonder why,’ he thought. ‘There is an aura about him that I can’t understand. Either he is really brave or foolish. I could have some fun with his audacity before I have him killed. It will amuse me.’ The decision made, he ceremoniously dismissed Jon and turned to listen to the minstrels who were there to entertain him. Jon was pleased with the outcome but there were others not so pleased. Sir Kay, Arthur’s foster brother and Sir Ector’s son, derided the boy’s effrontery. ‘This lad is too big for his boots! He cannot play games with the king!’

Sir Kay continued to scorn and mock Jon. In the month Jon spent in the castle, Sir Kay made him sit for his meals with the animals and sleep with the kitchen boys. The kitchens below the hall were dirty and the smell so intense that Jon found it hard to endure. He even wished that he were home by Gwin and Merde’s fireside. Unfortunately he knew he had to be come accustomed to the smell, squalor and the scurrying rats that ran over the kitchen floor that constantly woke him. It was all part of his master strategy. He cried sometimes at night because he would not have treated his own dog Ralph, as badly. Somehow he found the strength to remain meek and mild when he wanted to scream and shout. ‘Sir Kay will keep!’ Jon kept telling himself. His greatest pleasures every day came from being able to put on his coat of mail, called a hauberk, his leggings, his helmet and joining in the jousting. One day, Jon had firstly a fright and then a near tragedy. This incident could quite easily have spoiled his plans and given Nimue a win. Jon had no doubt Nimue was involved. He saw her as he was fighting, standing on the fringe, chanting to herself and he realized that one of her games was to discredit him in Arthur’s eyes and favorherself. Sir Kay saw Jon sparring with a squire and came over. He took up a sword and was obviously determined to teach Jon a lesson if not kill him. Jon realized Sir Kay wanted more than a friendly joust. All through the encounter Sir Kay kept shouting and screaming obscenities at Jon trying to goad and make him feel so uneasy that he might make a mistake. Jon was aware of this and focused on the fight. He knew if his temper rose, he might do something he would regret. He forced his mind to let the noise of Sir Kay’s raucous voice blend into the background and jumped around making Sir Kay move quicker than his large frame would allow. Before long the whole courtyard came to watch. Jon knew he had the better of Sir Kay as he thrust and parried. The fight was intense and Jon began wondering what to do should Sir Kay force him to kill him. His attention wavered and he found the point of his sword at Sir Kay’s throat. “Stop!” a voice of authority screamed. It was the king. Angered by what he saw, he stopped the fight. He knew very little about this boy but he knew that now was not the time to let him prove himself to be a hero by killing Sir Ector’s son, even though Jon was provoked into fighting. Jon was very pleased it had ended and did not hesitate to bow to Arthur to thank him, walking away from Sir Kay’s challenge. Unwittingly, Arthur had thwarted Nimue’s plan this time and Jon was more than pleased with any help he could get to outwit Nimue. A month later on the night Jon was speaking to the King, a noble lady barged through the guard at the door and clearly in distress, came rushing into the hall, interrupting Jon’s nervous speech to the king. She begged audience with the king and would not be silenced. Arthur, intrigued by the interruption and her obvious distress, granted the audience.

Jon stepped back. ‘That voice again… It’s Nimue in disguise.’ He listened carefully to what she had to say. “Sire,” she said. “I have a lady of great honor and renown who is besieged in her castle by a great giant. For seven years the giant has tormented us. The fiend destroyed farmer’s houses, tore up their crops, devoured their cattle, their sheep, their horses and their pigs. We have even seen him eat men alive. He carries women off to his castle. Now he has taken my mistress Lady Hilda. He has been holding her for the past two weeks. She may even be dead by now.” The woman was clearly acting distraught and begging for help. ‘Nimue’s very convincing,’ Jon thought. The lady continued. “No one is willing to risk death to save her. No one in this land, save you and your knights have the courage to fight him. I beseech you Sire. Save her and our land before it is ravished.” Arthur’s eyes widened, replying instantly and with pride. “I shall fight him. I shall fight him to the death! He shall have no more of my people or my land. Fear not fair lady, I will kill him. He is no match for my sword!” Jon quivered in his boots. Nimue wanted to lure Arthur away. If Arthur was going to fight, and Jon was entrusted with Arthur’s life, he had to do something. He had to go with Arthur, come what may. Jon shouted. “Sire!” The whole court fell silent and stared at him standing in front of the king. Nimue, dressed as a lady, turned, her face contorted in anger at Jon’s interruption. Jon came forward and continued, oblivious of Nimue’s malice. “Sire, may I ask for my other two wishes?” Before the king could answer, with a look of rage on his face at being interrupted, Jon said, “One wish is that I might be made a knight. And two, may I go with you to kill the giant?” Jon audibly gasped when he had said it...’You fool Jon, the last thing you want is to be killed by a giant! A giant?’ The king, again mesmerized by this youth and his effrontery, said quickly. “Yes.” He meant to say ‘no’ but for some reason it came out as ‘yes!’ Arthur felt he was loosing control. ‘This lad must be stupid if he wants to fight a giant! If he shows as much confidence fighting the giant as I saw this after noon, he should make a great knight! It may just knock the wind out of his cocky sails and present some fair sport.’ “First, I shall make you a knight.” Little did Jon know Arthur had no earthly idea, where words were coming from that were spilling out from his mouth. The idea of this little runt of a boy (even though

Arthur was about the same age) becoming a knight was quite preposterous but Arthur could not go back on his word. He was the king. The stunned silence of the court created by the last few minutes was broken by the clatter of hooves. At the door stood a most magnificent horse, all finely clad in gold. ‘Cor!...Where did that come from?’ Jon thought. In a flash, he knew it was part of Merlin’s plan. “To whom does this horse belong?” Arthur inquired. Jon was as amazed as anyone by the sight in front of him. “Sire, I was told to bring the horse for Ruhtra,” Moran said in trepidation. “Who told you that!” the king asked angrily. “A nobleman came to the stables with the horse and told me to bring it to him post haste.” “It’s for me,’ Jon thought ‘Good old Merlin! He must have put all this in place before he disappeared. How much more magic has he left here to help me?’ Jon’s heart beat faster and before the spell was broken, he armed himself in the gold garments handed to him by Moran, and stood by the horse. Arthur, as if in a dream, waved at the court and bade everyone to the chapel. He swept out of the great hall and along the stony droughty corridors, with Jon and the horse following. In the chapel Jon’s weapons were laid upon the altar and Jon bid to come and kneel. Arthur took out his sword and stood in front of him. “The duties of a true knight are to be honorable and brave.” Arthur said. “To uphold the right and fight against the wrong. To respect and protect women, and show mercy and helpfulness. These are the rules of chivalry. Do you promise to keep them?” “I do sire, with all my heart.” The priest then blessed Jon’s sword and Arthur gently placed it on the left shoulder. “What is to be your title?” Already confused with names, Jon whispered, “Sir Jon.” “In the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George, I dub thee knight. Be loyal, brave and true. Arise.... Sir Jon. You have your wishes.... You are now a knight and will come with me to kill the giant.” Again, Arthur was astounded at the words but he knew he could not go back on his word.

Nimue winced and Jon felt pleasure rush through his veins. ‘She’s not too happy with that outcome,’ The whole Court was spellbound. “How could this happen? This knight is merely a boy. He has surely cast a spell on the king!” Some asked. Sir Kay was angry! “I should be going with the King...Not this upstart!” Sir Kay seethed in anger and that night, set on Jon as he left the court. It was a moonlit night and as Jon walked home to his lodgings, he peered up to the battlements. He could clearly make out a figure dancing in the moonlight. ‘That is Nimue and she is angry,’ he thought. He looked again and instantly caught sight of the glint of a sword flashing towards him. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, thrusting it with speed toward the glistening sword of his attacker, managing somehow to knock the sword out of his assailant’s hand. He recognized it was Sir Kay. He blanched knowing he had the chance to kill him again and was mad enough to do so... had Sir Lancelot not intervened. “Be not so angry, Sir Jon. He is but jealous. Do not kill him. Come let us go back to Court.” Back at court the gossip grew. Many were in awe of the new Sir Jon’s power. “To have the power to mesmerize the king.... To have beaten Sir Kay...Who is he? Where does he come from? Why is he here?” These questions were whispered around. Sir Jon, meanwhile, was feeling elated. ‘Round one! I have moved forward one square in the game!’ Jon wished his friends at school could see him now. ‘They would never believe what had happened.’ Moran was very pleased for him. “May I pledge myself as your squire?” he asked humbly. “Moran, do not be so silly. Of course you are to be my squire. Who else have I to trust?” So it was, as the night closed, Jon had his knighthood, a squire, and many enemies.

Chapter 13 The next day Jon was walking by the side of the lake. The water was shimmering like glass. He bent down to pick up a stone for skimming when his eyes caught his reflection in the water. ‘Good grief! No wonder people stared. I do look like the king! I can still see the old me but I have changed. This must be what I will look like in a few years’ time- perhaps, when I am about twenty. Don’t I look handsome?’ He looked up and standing by the lake was Nimue, dressed as the lady he had seen in Arthur’s court last night. He decided to pretend he was not wise to her wily ways and let her think she could seduce him. He approached her tentatively. “Damsel, I will fight your adventure with my king. I have undertaken in King. Arthur’s presence to achieve your venture and so I shall finish the giant or I shall die!” With that long speech in an unfamiliar language, Jon turned without waiting for her reaction and left taking huge strides, hoping he had fooled her into thinking that he didn’t recognize her. He didn’t wait to hear her speak because her voice was her strongest ally. In a few words, she would be able to mesmerize Jon into thinking he should not be so foolhardy as to go after the giant with Arthur. As he returned to the castle, a page came looking for him. “Sir Jon...King Arthur wishes to speak with you.” Normally Jon would have been quivering but as things were working out, he was feeling good about himself and strode off to the hall. He entered the hall and bowed before his king. The king was alone. “At midnight without a word to anyone we will leave. I want thee to help me find this giant...I intend to kill him myself. It is important for a king to set a good example to his knights. I think my own strength and skill will be all I will need. However, if it looks as if I need help, come thee to my aid.” That night they crept out of the castle and set forth on their horses in search of the giant. They arrived at the place the lady described, beside a large lake, discovering a small rowboat at the edge of the water. “This must be it. Look, I see the giant’s castle on the island. Come, Sir Jon. Row me to it!” Jon rowed over the lake. The giant’s castle was on an island that rose darkly out of the water. When they reached the bottom edge of the castle they heard the sound of a women wailing.

“Hark Jon. Let’s hurry.” King Arthur removed his Excalibur sword from its scabbard and bravely forged on. “I shall walk ahead of you, but follow me. Place yourself where you can observe and stay out of sight. It is not appropriate for anyone but the king to fight the giant. Only if he has me pinned to the ground are you to help.” Jon said nothing. He knew what he was here to do...to protect Arthur and that is what he would do... to his utmost! They met the wailing women on their way up the winding track As soon as she spoke, Jon knew who it was. ‘Is there no end to Nimue’s many disguises?’ he thought, bracing himself. ‘I have to outwit her,’ he decided. ‘I have to.’ “Who are you, fools or angels?” she continued. “If you are knights, I pity you because you are about to be tortured to death by this gruesome creature. He will delight in tearing off your arms and legs!” Jon shivered at the thought. “Fifty knights would not be able to stop him. Take my advice and flee while you can. To remain here is to seek your death.” Arthur stood to his full height and resolutely asked,” Which way to the giant?” The woman pointed to the right. ‘It’s the wrong way,’ Jon thought. “Sire,” he responded quickly. “If that’s the way, why don’t we go the opposite way, circle around and take him from the back.” Arthur hesitated, and a smile crossed over Nimue’s face. Her eyes swiveled round. ‘No! No! pleaded Jon. ‘Don’t take her bait.’ He was just wondering what to do when Nimue rose and headed off into the wood, just as the thumping sound of very large feet came perilously close. King Arthur turned to follow the sound and found he was staring up at the head of the huge giant. Heeding what the king ordered him to do, Jon had time to hide behind a tree before the giant came into full view. He gasped, looking at the giant from his hiding place. He had seen ugly drawings of monsters but never anything that looked as ugly and as big as this. From the top of his head to his feet he must have been 6 meters tall. His face was all misshapen and blotchy. His eyebrows were thick and matted in blood. His lips were big and fleshy with blood and bits hanging from it. His nose was like that of a witch, long and pointed. He was ugly and the smell of him, even worse! His clothes were made out of human hair, fringed by human beards. Jon was repulsed and frightened. How could he ever help Arthur to kill this creature? “Merlin...Merlin do not forsake us now,” he pleaded. Arthur stood firm with his sword and shield waiting for the giant to move on him with his huge club. The giant was chanting loudly; a language that Jon did not understand.

‘Think! Jon. Think!’ From behind the tree the giant could not see him. He carefully removed his spear. Could he get up into the limbs of this tree? He looked up into the branches. He would have a better chance of throwing his spear from above. He scrambled as fast as he could; awkwardly up the tree to an over hanging branch while praying the giant would not see him. Luckily, the giant had his eyes focused on Arthur. He caught sight of the woman in the distance, peering from behind a tree. ‘Nimue coming in for the kill,’ he thought to himself as he galvanized himself for action. Whoosh went the spear out of Jon’s hands, hitting the target just as the giant brought down his club and hit Arthur’s shield with an almighty crash. At the force of the blow, Arthur staggered and fell to the ground. He quickly recovered and scrambled to his feet. Jon winced. The giant bellowed and flung out in rage at Arthur, his hand removed the spear from his damaged eye and threw it back toward Jon. Jon ducked and the spear landed near him in the tree. The last blow the giant made toward Arthur knocked him out cold and he lay as if dead, at the feet of the giant. The giant was about to pick up Arthur in his grubby hand and take him a away when Jon, who had clambered as far as he could on to the limb nearest the giant, grabbed his spear. With one huge thrust, he threw it into the other eye of the giant, bending toward Arthur. A few moments passed before blood gushed from the giant’s eye and splattered everywhere. With no time to waste Jon clambered down the tree. He grabbed Arthur’s Excalibur sword from the ground, aimed and thrust the sword into the giant’s face with all his might turning the blade, round and round. With blood spurting everywhere, the giant reared and fell to his knees, nearly missing Arthur. He groaned and fainted. Careful, Jon seized his opportunity and clambered up the giant’s body. The stench of the giant nearly made Jon sick. He plunged the sword through the giant’s ear and into his skull. Wincing at the crunching sound, he thrust and turned the blade. The giant opened his eyes once more and then finally gave up the struggle to rid himself of Jon and try to get up off his knees. With a great roar, he fell to the floor on his face and took his final breath. The Excalibur had pierced his brain. Jon tentatively listened. There was no breathing sound from the giant. He was still not certain that the giant would not rear up again. He carefully removed the sword, wiped the blood off, and held the shining blade to the giant’s mouth. It did not cloud over. The giant was dead. “Thank you, Merlin,” he said, scrambling back into hiding on the bough of a tree to wait until Arthur to woke up.

If he had not turned sharply round to find a more comfortable position, he would not have caught a glimpse of Nimue disappearing from behind a tree. He waited for her next move. ‘Was that her plan?’ he asked himself. ‘Somehow, I don’t think she wanted the giant to die. She wanted Arthur. But why?’ He realized he was exhausted in mind and body. Stretching out on the bough, he soon fell asleep. When he woke Arthur was standing below, looking up at him. Nimue was nowhere in sight. “I slew the giant! I slew the giant!” Arthur said excitedly. “Look where my Excalibur killed him. I don’t remember thrusting it into his skull but I must have. No other living man can wield my sword. Come Sir Jon, let us release the lady Hilda, cut off his head and take it back for everyone to admire.” Jon was more pleased than the king could imagine. He had successfully saved Arthur from death and with the help of the great Excalibur sword- the sword Merlin had arranged for Arthur to carry long before Jon arrived. Jon had forgotten the story of the sword or more rightly had not had time to think about it. Supposedly, it had magical powers and no one but Arthur could yield it successfully. However this episode had shown Jon that as the spirit of Arthur, he also had been granted the rights to wield the magic sword. He remembered vaguely that it was one of the last things Merlin had said to him. The whole experience had been horrifying. Jon saw where Arthur’s naivety and bravery could have killed them both. Arthur really seemed to believe he was immortal and would live on forever. ‘With the Excalibur sword he could probably save himself in many fights but he really needs a ‘minder’,’ Jon decided. ‘I can see why Merlin worried.’ Arthur talked all the way home about how brave Jon had been. “Many a knight would have fled. I am well pleased with you.” When they returned to Court there was much merriment and feasting. Arthur recounted the story of how he had killed the big giant. Jon looked toward the head table and saw pure anger on Nimue’s face. He was pleased but a little disturbed by the jealousy that was also mounting over his friendship with the king. The little episode with the giant had earned Jon a place at the Round Table. ‘One smaller step in my plan.’ He also reasoned that he should now go everywhere with Arthur to keep his eyes on him and an even bigger eye on Nimue.

Chapter 14 At St. Helen’s hospital it had been ten days since Jon’s last brain surgery and he had stabilized. The pressure had gone off his brain but he was still in a deep coma. The doctors had taken the bandages off his eyes and again Jon’s mother thought she saw his eyelids flicker. After watching for some time she realized she had dreamed it. “One could see things sometimes, because one wanted to but they were not there, they were just illusions,” a nurse told her. Jon’s mother spent all the possible hours she could with Jon. It had become a routine. She had no other life except looking after her family and keeping vigil over Jon. Everyday a therapist came and spent an hour moving Jon’s arms and legs. His mother helped because she had been told just how important it was to keep doing it so that his muscles would not atrophy or his joints become too stiff to move. It seemed funny to his mother that there was still really a lot to do even with a patient in a coma. She was pleased to keep busy. His father came after work and as often as he could. Jon’s mother felt it was important that all the people Jon knew should come to talk to him. Even his sisters came. It took them both a long time to stop crying at first but later on, they were able to talk to him better than perhaps they had before the accident. They had always treated him as a` pest’ and sometimes made his life quite miserable but now they both agreed, they would give anything to have their normal brother back. Jon’s friend Troy came occasionally and sat beside him. He told Jon about all the things that were going on at school. “Mr. Grice has recently been away from school and we surmise he must be sick. Gossip has it that there is something going on between Mr. Grice and Ms. Newman. She’s also away from school,” he added. “I’d rather believe the story that Mr. Grice is leaving teaching and the school because I don’t think he would be interested in old Ms. Flatfeet. Most of the boys are upset he’s leaving, especially those in our war games club. Who will take that over if Mr. Grice left?” Troy asked Jon. Troy told him about the antics around the school and then related the progress of the huge war they were waging. “It started before your accident, remember?” he said to the comatose body lying on the bed.” We were fighting the legendary wars of King Arthur!” After your accident the tales Mr. Grice told us made it even more exciting. I think I would have liked to be Sir Lancelot had I been alive in those times. He was such a good knight! Did you know Jon?” Troy prattled on. “When a man became a knight, he took an oath, which made him live to certain rules. He was expected to be loyal to the king, to his relatives and friends. He was expected to be well mannered and courageous at all times, whether fighting in a battle for his king, taking part in a duel or tournament or helping ladies in distress. He was to live like a man of honor. Everybody looked up to a knight especially if he were a knight of the Round Table.”

It was evident to Jon’s mother as she sat and listened to the conversation, Troy really missed Jon. ‘Strange,’ she thought,’ I have never really thought of Jon as nearly a man. I only think of him as my little boy.’ She was surprised to realize she knew very little about her son’s activities. The complexity of all the games he played amazed her. She always thought Jon and Troy were playing boy’s games but after listening to Troy’s conversation with Jon, their minds to her, were a complete mystery. She concluded that she spent too much time feeding and clothing Jon’s body to worry about his dreams and imagination.

Chapter 15 Jon sat with the other knights at their table. Laughter and clapping filled the great hall as a group of jugglers entertained the king. One juggler was also a clown and he threw his balls in the most unexpected places and then cleverly retrieved them. This sent the audience into gasps and peals of laughter. Next came the leader of the group. He strummed away on his harp as he chanted a long poem. The hall was silent and when he finished, the whole hall clapped vigorously. An interlude came next and everyone began to talk loudly. Jon discussed with Sir Perceval an idea he had for jousting. His conversation was interrupted when suddenly there was a loud roll of thunder and a tremor shook the castle foundations. Everyone looked toward the minstrels thinking that some big show was about to begin. Instead, a beam of light streamed into the room. The beam was several times stronger than any normal light Jon had ever seen. ‘Goodness,’ thought Jon. ‘Nimue is going a bit far with this one! That floodlight is a bit too strong. It shows up the entire dirt and squalor and then he remembered; flashlights had not been invented in the middle ages.’ Everyone was speechless. Jon could see them thinking their hour of doom was upon them, watching while ghostlike bearers covered in white silk came wafting through the beam. In their hands they held a shrouded cup. The cup was slowly carried around the hall. When it got near to Jon he detected a sweet smelling perfume. He genuinely felt he was watching a scene from a ‘Ghosts’ movie. When he quickly glanced around he saw the awe on everyone’s face. The cup disappeared, wafting away as swift as it came. A deep sigh floated through the hall. No one spoke but Jon could sense an easing of tension. He happened to look down on his plate and was surprised and puzzled to see a ‘Big Mac’ with all the trimmings sitting on his plate. He looked further around and realized that all the knights had different food; it was every knight’s favorite food in front of him. “What was that?” Jon whispered to Sir Perceval. Before Sir Perceval could answer, King Arthur arose and addressed the court. “Thank you God for sending us the vision of the Holy Grail.” ‘Was that the Holy Grail Arthur mentioned?’ Jon questioned as he moved uncomfortably in his chair. Immediately after the king, Sir Lancelot sprang to his feet. In a loud clear voice he started to speak. Jon was looking down at the ‘Big Mac’. His mouth watered. ‘I hope they are not going to go into big speeches,’ he thought.

“I make a vow,” Sir Lancelot said, “to ride forth in search of the Holy Grail, and I will know no rest until I find it!” To Jon’s surprise Lancelot’s voice and appearance bore an uncanny resemblance to his friend Troy When the other knights heard Sir Lancelot’s vow, they all rose. Jon quickly clambered to his feet and listened, the food forgotten. “We all pledge to do the same!” reverberated around the hall. Then they all sat down. The king stood up and replied sadly, “Alas,” he said quietly,” you have nearly killed me with your vow. When you go you will take the truest and fairest fellowship from my court. You have made an oath, and all have to be gone. God be with you!” ‘Go where?’ thought Jon. ‘Had he missed something here? Wait a minute...What was the legend of the Holy Grail,’ he puzzled. ‘It was alleged that the dish Jesus Christ had eaten his last supper on, had been lost for years and its whereabouts had become a quest. It was thought to be lost through the sinfulness of man and only a few pure souls could find it. Tonight we must have seen the shrouded cup. Cripes,’ he thought with alarm! Now he had pledged to go and look for a silly plate. ‘Good grief. Whatever would he have to do next?’ Jon considered his situation for a long time that night and decided he would leave the Court but not to go too far away from Arthur. He had to go. He was a night of the Round Table. He had to make as if he was going to look for some plate but he would only go and spend time with Gwin and Merde and perhaps take in a little fishing. Tomorrow he would send Moran ahead to tell them both he was coming to visit. Later in the night, he bribed one of the serving boys, promising to make him a squire when they returned to court. In return, he wanted him to watch what was going on around Arthur, particularly in regards to Nimue. He wanted him to ride like the wind to Gwin’s, should anything untoward happen. To do this, he left a horse in the stables for him. Next morning before the knights set out on their quest, Merlin warned them, through the Priest that if they were not clean of sin they would not see the mysteries of the Holy Grail. Each knight shouted his allegiance to a sinless existence. The king gathered his knights together and blessed them. All one hundred and fifty of them were going to take up the quest and Jon could see that Arthur was very sad as he said goodbye to them. They put on their helmets, mounted their horses and as they rode out of the courtyard, much weeping and wailing came from the knights’ ladies. Jon saw that Arthur turned away so that no one could see him cry. It was a sad moment. The trumpets sounded and Jon could not keep the tears from his own eyes as he crossed the moat and headed away from the castle. Eventually, the knights rode their separate ways.

Jon rode off and headed for Gwin and Merde’s. Gwin had not been working for Sir Ector for a few weeks. He had broken a leg while exercising the king’s horse. Jon thought this unlikely, unless Nimue had orchestrated the fall. Gwin was such a good horsemen and good horsemen do not fall off horses. ‘Perhaps Nimue thought it was Arthur on the horse,’ Jon contemplated. ‘Foiled again if she did but I wish it had not been Gwin. Being sent home to wait for his leg to heal, I’ve not seen him for a time.’ When he arrived home, he was overcome by the welcome he received. He was pleased to see that Gwin’s leg had knitted and he was able to hobble around with the aid of a staff. He also realized that they really loved him and he could see they were pleased he had not forgotten them. The little cottage was the same and he was surprised that he felt quite at home in a place he had previously loathed. He realized the cottage was no dirtier than any other place he had visited in this time. Except, for the fact he had to remember that Gwin and Merde still called him Ruhtra, everything was fine. A few days later, the young serving boy rode over from the castle. Jon’s heart pounded as he slipped off the horse. “What has happened,” he shouted. “Sir Jon,” the boy said breathlessly.” Lady Guinevere and Nimue have left the court. I thought you might like to know.” “You did well to come,” Jon said, relief passing through every bone. He could relax a little now and enjoy being home. “You will be rewarded. Go back and let me know anything else that happens.” The boy rode off, leaving Jon with a feeling that Nimue was up to something but he couldn’t for the life of him, think what. Jon spent pleasant days in tune with the sea. He coaxed Moran into the water and they had great fun trying to surf on the turtle shell. It took them both a while to get their balance and they fell off a few times but soon they were both confidently surfing the waves. Jon could not believe the abundance of fish in the sea as he paddled out on the turtle shell. The fish swimming around him he could have caught with his bare hands. Dolphins came and played with them and there was much fun and laughter from Jon and Moran ringing around the cove. Merde and Gwin stood on the shore and laughed to see the two boys enjoying themselves. Jon helped Gwin to work out new nets and devices for fishing; things, which his own father had taught him. He scrambled over the rocks in the cove and under the water line and was surprised to find oysters and crabs on and around the rocks. ‘What a luxury to be able to pick so many and to be able to live on them every day,’ he thought. He taught Merde how to cook fish in batter and eat oysters and crab. He showed her how to make damper out of flour, how to barbecue fish on the beach. Merde, a little

wary at first, just marvel led and boasted about how her Ruhtra had learned to cook since he had been at Arthur’s kitchen. Gwin, Moran and Jon spent many hours with the horses. They rode, swam and exercised over the dunes. Jon was careful not to go too near the castle in case he should be seen and when he did go out, he took on a variety of disguises, should he be recognized by any of the king’s men. Jon told Gwin about how he could improve the strength of the horse’s legs by exercising them on the beach in the sand dunes. Gwin was amazed at the boy’s ideas and knowledge but said nothing. He was now so grown up. So much a man! He had left us a boy and returned a man. One day Moran rode in to tell Jon he had heard that the knights were returning to Arthur’s court, disappointed in their quests, Jon knew it was time to go and he said a fond farewell to his foster parents, Gwin and Merde.

Chapter 16 Back at St Helens hospital, it was weeks now since the accident and Jon’s parents were very dispirited. Would Jon ever wake up out of the coma? They still spent most of there time beside his bed and they still moved his limbs and talked to him as if he was able to hear but he still lay there as if he were made of stone. His wounds were healed and he looked almost angelic. His blond hair had grown and his mother noticed he had the start of a little fluffy beard growing. ‘What a handsome man,’ his mother thought. She had to face the fact that Jon would not wake up again. Not a religious woman, she had prayed and prayed that he would be spared. She also prayed that soon the person who had knocked Jon off his bicycle would be found. In the first weeks Jon’s parents had been too busy worrying about Jon and his health to even think about the person who knocked him off his bicycle. In the last few weeks, as they waited in despair for him to wake up out of the coma, the police had been desperately trying to solve the mystery. There had been no witnesses and there was no real hard evidence except for a small fraction of red enamel paint and tire marks that led the police to believe it was a car that knocked him down. The search for the person who drove the vehicle was slowly grinding to a halt. The authorities thought that he or she might be in the area. If they were, the police suspected they’d hidden the car with red paint missing from it or they had it repainted. It was now a matter of getting a lead on anybody that owned a red car. They were also looking at the possibility the person escaped out of state. The investigation was slow. They wanted to catch the person or persons because of Jon’s critical state. Should he die, the charge would be manslaughter.

Chapter 17 Many of the returning knights had a variety of adventures. Some were killed and others just wandered about in vain. Most realized they were unworthy of the chance to see the Holy Grail and they returned to King Arthur’s Court. Jon returned with Moran and was not surprised to see Nimue and Queen Guinevere had also returned. From where, he had no idea. The thought passed his mind that ‘Nimue would not have been up to any good and he surmised that her act would have been to seduce Guinevere with her scheming ways.’ Sir Lancelot also returned and there was a lot of merriment and feasting when he told his adventures to the gatherings. He told them that he thought he had actually seen the cup of the Holy Grail but could not swear to it. King Arthur was so pleased to have his knights back, but full of sorrow for those that had not returned. It was soon after this that Jon found out the extent of Nimue’s meddling. Sir Lancelot and the king had a bitter parting. Gossip about Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot abounded at the court. From what Jon gathered, from snippets of gossip Moran brought him, many envied Sir Lancelot’s friendship with the king and many wanted to discredit him in the king’s eyes. Chivalrous Sir Lancelot, a true ladies man, rescued Queen Guinevere from a fate worse than death when she had been accused of poisoning one of Arthur’s knights at dinner one night. “God, what has Nimue dreamed up now?” Jon whispered, when he heard the tale. “Is there no end to the woman’s meddling? I bet she besotted Lancelot with Guinevere and planted the poison herself. Don’t tell me she thinks she has to get rid of Guinevere to get to the king. How low will she stoop?” To his delight, Jon realized that Nimue’s ploy had gone wrong again. The chivalrous, besotted Sir Lancelot had saved Queen Guinevere from death. Lancelot then fled off to his own castle, romantically carrying the Queen Guinevere with him. As he fled, he made the mistake… or was it a mistake… of killing two unarmed knights. These two unarmed knights were the brothers of Sir Gawain; Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris. It was one of the worst things that Lancelot could have done and knowing him to be trustworthy and gallant, Jon knew he had done this unintentionally or with the help of the hand of the sorceress. He also knew, unlike Nimue that it would be a natural reaction for Sir Lancelot to be chivalrous. The three offended knights wanted to avenge the deaths of their loved one’s so they goaded King Arthur into following Sir Lancelot and declaring war on him. Jon felt uneasy about the outcome because he knew instinctively that a knight as loyal

and chivalrous as Sir Lancelot would not fight the king. Sir Gawain was determined to fight and within a few days, had gathered a huge army in the name of the king and readied them for warfare against Sir Lancelot. Thus, the war between the king and Sir Lancelot began. Sir Lancelot meanwhile, arriving with Queen Guinevere to his castle, prepared for a siege. All the peasants from the villages near his castle came into the castle grounds for protection. They brought all their possessions and as much food as possible. Many of them would not see their homes again. Their homes would be burnt to the ground, their crops and fields ruined. Inside the castle walls Lancelot ordered workers to put wooden platforms along the tops of the walls. The soldiers defending the castle would be able to walk around freely without being seen by the enemy. In addition, from there, they could hurl heavy stones, boiling water and hot pitch down onto their enemies. He was ready for King Arthur, although he had no intention of fighting his king. Soon King Arthur and Sir Gawain were ready to leave with a huge army. Jon packed up his things and headed off with the king to take part in the siege on Sir Lancelot’s castle. What a performance it turned out to be. Along the road outside the castle stretched a line of men and armed men on horseback, followed by several litters, covered wagons, instruments of war and the servants with packhorses. The knights rode on ahead. Although it was a short journey there would be no inns and no food along the way so the caravan, carried all the food and shelter. They dragged along machines that were ingenious but heavy and lumbering; the arblast, which was a giant crossbow made out of wood, lashed together and the trebuchet, which was a giant catapult. Both these instruments of war worked by pulling back a huge arm which when released sent a huge stone flying off, whistling through the air. These were used to break down the battlements and stone walls. The beffroi, which was a moveable tower, was used to bridge the moat and allow the knights to climb ladders, up to the top of the castle walls. It was a slow process to get to Sir Lancelot’s castle. They moved along roads that were little more than dirt tracks, through woods, fields and across streams and rivers. Jon considered the place chosen to attack was far too near to the castle. ‘What would they think if he told them about modern warfare; where planes flew through the sky and dropped bombs and missiles on top of them? They would think me possessed,’ he thought. Day after day the King fought to capture the castle but Lancelot would not appear to fight. Lancelot would not wage war on his king. He and his best knights remained within the castle walls and would not take part in the battle. Finally after days of fighting, Sir Lancelot came to the castle walls.

‘What’s he up to now,’ thought Jon. ‘This farce has to end soon. All this chivalry is just too much. I would like to be in a good battle but this is a ridiculous waste of time and effort.’ Sir Lancelot shouted to the king, “You win no honor here with this siege since I refuse to do battle with you. I will never fight the noble king who made me a knight!” Arthur replied, “Spare me your honeyed words. I am your mortal enemy until you die. You have killed my good knights and my relatives. You have slept with my Queen and now you take her from me by force.” Sir Lancelot replied, “most noble Lord and King, say whatever you wish, I will not fight against you. I will defend the Queen’s honor against any other knight, for what you say is untrue, for she is as true to you as any living lady is to her master.” “You lie! You cowardly knight!” shouted Sir Gawain. ‘That has done it!’ thought Jon. ‘This plot is getting thicker. Not even Nimue could have envisaged this result. No one calls Sir Lancelot a coward! Lancelot knows Arthur would forgive and forget if Sir Gawain were not egging him on. Coward indeed! Those are fighting words and they should bring Sir Lancelot out to fight Sir Gawain!’ Just as Jon thought, to preserve his honor, Sir Lancelot was forced to leave the castle and fight. Jon stayed close to Arthur on the battlefield. However, Arthur could not sit still. Jon could see that he was anxious to be in the thick of it. Sir Lancelot pleaded with the King not to fight but somehow, Arthur ended up in the thick of it. The noise was horrendous! The battle cries filled the air with the thundering of horses hooves and the clashing of swords. Jon was right in the middle with Moran shouting, “this way, Sir Jon.... To your left...Sir Jon.” “Yahoo!” shouted Jon as he charged some poor knight and knocked him off his horse with one fell swoop. Dust was flying everywhere and Jon began to find it hard to keep his eyes on Arthur. He saw the Excalibur glinting in the sun once or twice but it was getting very difficult to keep track when he had to watch he was not knocked off his own horse. Well in to the battle Jon lost sight of the king. He panicked. Then he spotted Arthur with a knight charging him. “Watch out Sire,” Jon shouted above the din. Sir Bors was charging down on his own king and knocked Arthur off his horse. Jon turned and headed toward Arthur. Before Sir Bors turned and reached the king, Sir Lancelot came from nowhere and stopped Sir Bors sword, with his sword.

“As dearly as I love you nephew,” he shouted. “I will kill you before I would let you harm the king who made you knight!” With that, Sir Lancelot knocked him off his horse with one swipe of his sword. Lancelot then leaped off his horse, picked Arthur up off the ground and put him back on his horse. Jon stopped and could see the tears in Arthur’s eyes as Lancelot lifted him up onto his horse and guided him to safety. The tears were because he realized Sir Lancelot was nobler than any other man he had ever met and that Sir Lancelot loved his King more dearly than he loved any other man in the realm. Jon also knew at that moment the king still dearly loved Sir Lancelot. If it had not been for Sir Gawain, this horrendous battle and waste of lives would never have happened. Also, Jon concluded, ‘Sir Lancelot was able to foil Nimue.’ Instantly Jon discerned that Lancelot was crucial to his plan to get home. He had to find away to reconcile the two. Not long after the battle came to the final stages, a Papal messenger arrived from the Pope. Jon took him to where Arthur was resting. It stated that Arthur, on command of the Pope, was to settle his differences with Lancelot and take back his wife. ‘Well, well,’ thought Jon. ‘Who arranged that! No prizes for guessing. It had to be Merlin! Nimue would not have wished intervention by the Pope. Although Merlin is dead he seems to have eyes, ears, and fingers in every pie. That man is a magician.’ Jon realize what he had said. “Ha! Ha! Funny joke!” He laughed at his own joke, leading his horse off the field for the day. “Couldn’t I do with a lovely long shower and a drink of ‘Coke’! The day was great fun but thirsty and dirty work.” The danger of it never entered Jon’s head. Next day with pomp and ceremony, Sir Lancelot delivered the Queen back to King Arthur. They both knelt before the King and Arthur was overcome with joy at having both back with him. Not so Nimue or Sir Gawain. Nimue was stamping her feet and clenching her fists. She had not succeeded in taking the queen away from Arthur. She had not succeeded in getting closer to Arthur. What would she try next? Jon did not have to wait long to find out. Sir Gawain’s face was thunderous as he approached the king. Jon concluded that Sir Gawain would never be at peace with the man that had slain his brothers. “The king may take his queen again if he will,” said Sir Gawain angrily to Sir Lancelot. “But you are past a pardon. You can go away from here in peace. After that I will follow you to the ends of the earth until I kill you.” ‘Did Nimue put those words into his mouth?’ Jon thought. ‘Does she now want to get rid of Sir Lancelot?’ Jon was becoming confused. The complication of Nimue’s devious treachery was clouding the issue. Sir Lancelot replied with tears in his eyes. “I will go! I assure you, I’ve been a true, loyal servant and a friend to you King Arthur and you Queen Guinevere,” he said

nodding to her. “I leave in disgrace, banished with shame without cause. Sir Gawain should you decide to come to my lands to war upon me, I pray you not to charge me with treason of felony again, for if you do, I must answer you with a duel.” There was neither king, nor knight, nor baron, nor squire that did not weep as Sir Lancelot swept grandly out of the hall and left. He left Arthur’s court forever. A strange shiver went through Jon. ‘My plan is going to pieces. I wish that all these knights were not so honorable or so sensitive! Why did Sir Lancelot leave? Nimue had won that round. She had rid the Court of the most important man, the one that could save Arthur.’ Jon sighed. How was he going to get Sir Lancelot back? The feud had gone on so long that there seemed no end. He suddenly knew Arthur’s and for that matter, his own time was near. Now with Lancelot gone there was no leadership for the Knights of the Round Table. All were split in their loyalties between Arthur and Lancelot. The barons, knights, and dukes would be fighting each other and the country would be in turmoil. Arthur would not be strong enough to maintain peace. Jon felt he could do little to help him.

Chapter 18 The small town of Avalon, where the body of Jon, still lay at St. Helen’s hospital, still in a coma, was humming with the news. The police were about to charge the man who knocked Jon off his bicycle with the charge of ‘hit and run.’ As yet, no one had been named but everyone sighed with relief that there was something positive happening. Jon’s family were pleased. However, their pleasure was marred by the fact there was still no change in Jon. “Don’t despair. Coma patients have been known to sleep for weeks or even months. Patience and praying is the only thing that can help Jon,” said Jon’s doctor when he realized how low in spirits Jon’s parents were feeling. He watched them almost beg Jon to wake up and he knew there was little hope he could give them. Time would tell. To help with the prayers the local priest held a special service for Jon at the local Catholic Church. He urged everybody from all religions to come and pray. Jon’s parents were overwhelmed when they saw the church was bursting at the seams with people. People that they had never seen before. The service was simple. Many of them could not hold back their tears. During the service the church darkened and there was the sound of thunder outside. Explosions of lightening flashed through the stained glass windows. Everyone stood in awe as a beam of celestial light struck the altar encasing the holy sacraments. It went as swiftly as it came, as did the thunder and lightening. The priest, hypnotized chanted; “To him Great light from God gave sight of all things dim, And wisdom of all wondrous things to say What a root should bear what fruit of night and day; And sovereign speech and counsel above men; Wherefore his youth like age was wise and wan, And his age sorrowful and fain to sleep.’ * The congregations were unaware the priest had no idea where the chant came from that he spoke. It disturbed him. He could not remember ever hearing it before. It just came like the lightning to his lips. He managed to finish the service without what he called, anymore ‘divine intervention.’ The whole service disturbed him so much that next day he made a pilgrimage to visit Jon in hospital. As he sat by the bed and looked at Jon he could have sworn that he saw a halo over his head. He shook his head from side to side and decided he had better get out of the room before he started to imagine other things. *Tristam of Lyonesse (Swinburne)

Chapter 19 Jon felt hatred toward Sir Lancelot welling up inside Sir Gawain and his stepbrother although Lancelot was no longer at court. Nimue fueled Sir Gawain’s anger and he elicited other knights in his mission. Sir Mordred, the king’s nephew, who was to be given the privilege of guarding Arthur’s realm, entered the battle and soon there were so many knights against Sir Lancelot that King Arthur was forced to declare war on Lancelot, yet again. Jon saw Sir Mordred as an evil man. He was not in Jon’s estimation a loyal man to his king. Scratching his brain, Jon vaguely remembered Sir Mordred brought about Arthur’s demise in the end but he could not for the life of him remember the details. “My gut tells me,” Jon said to Moran one day, “King Arthur is about to make the biggest mistake, and perhaps the decision that will bring about his demise, if he decides to leave his realm in the hands of his nephew, Mordred.” “They say that Mordred is scheming to take over the realm and even, Queen Guinevere. He is telling everybody how much he loves her and wants to take her away from Arthur,” said Moran, who had been gathering titbits of information from around the camp. ‘Jeez! That would put the ‘cat amongst the pigeons,’’ thought Jon. He paused. ‘You idiot Jon….why didn’t you realize it before now.’ He thumped his hand on the table. Moran looked at him in surprise. “ Everything all right?” he asked. Jon’s face was ablaze, his anger welling up. “Yes… sorry Moran. A thought struck me. One that I should have recognized ages ago.” Moran looked at Jon but Jon said nothing. ‘Nimue is being loyal to Mordred who she is trying to make king.’ Jon’s mind raged. ‘She is working in his interests, not Arthur’s. That’s why she wants Arthur dead… She would then have a king of her own to put on the throne and influence, not one that had been led by Merlin. That’s why she has been plotting and casting spells. Oh, how I wish I could bring back Sir Lancelot,’ he thought with a sigh. He wracked his brains to think of a way to help Arthur but the answer escaped him. It did not seem that even Merlin was going to help. No Jon thought, ‘I think this is it. I will do what I can but I think it is out of my hands.’ Jon tried to talk to King Arthur. He asked for an audience but was refused. Sir Gawain, influenced by Nimue would not let the king listen to what anybody had to say. Jon realized the king was unaware of all Mordred’s evil plans because Arthur left again for a battle against Lancelot, giving Mordred all he possessed, his land, his people, and his Queen to guard. Unwittingly, he had played right into Mordred’s hands! Before Jon marched off again into battle, he decided he would visit Gwin and Merde.

He did not know why but he felt this might be the last time he would see them and they had been so good to him. Inside he was churning. His heart told him the time was near and he was annoyed for not knowing what happened next in Arthur’s history and frustrated at not being able to help Arthur. He looked at Gwin and Merde fondly. “You have been so good to me,” he said with sincerity.” Thank you.” “Yo! Lad, steady up,” said Gwin, “you would think that you were going forever.” Jon glossed over the subject by saying that these were unsettled times and that he may not return from war. Gwin was agitated and suggested they go for an evening stroll. He told an amazed Jon the secret that he had kept for many long years. Jon listened. His mind raced on. ‘It had to be Merlin that had planted the baby in the stables. It had to be! Merlin had this planned for a long time,’ Jon thought. ‘Was Ruhtra an identical twin to Arthur? Was there a possibility that twins had been born at the same time, of the same mother? Was there any superstitions held about twins in the middle ages? Could Merlin have got rid of Ruhtra for this reason?’ Jon shook his head. It was all too fanciful for him to contemplate. “Know you anything about this? Have you heard any hint at court?” Gwin asked. “No,” Jon could honestly say. He did not refer to any conversations with Merlin. It would not serve to distress dear Gwin with all the details. There was much weeping and wailing when Jon left Merde and Gwin next morning. Jon took a final look around. Sadness hung heavy on Jon’s shoulders. ‘What good people they are,’ he thought. He shook hands with Gwin and gave Merde a big hug. As he rode away he looked back at them for what he knew would be the last time.

Chapter 20 Arthur’s army marched once again to the castle of Benwick where Lancelot was living and took siege. Poor Arthur, to appease his knights was once again forced to face a battle with Lancelot. The noise, dust and dirt was starting to get to Jon. Some of the glory was going out of his adventure but he hung in there for Arthur’s sake. The beffroi, or as Jon called it, the moveable tower, was dragged in front of the castle walls. Soldiers shielded themselves as they shot their bows and arrows from behind. Another device that looked somewhat like a covered bridge or a ‘cat’ as it was called, was dragged over to the moat where turf, stones, and other materials had been thrown to fill up the moat. Soldiers moved in to the castle walls under the protection of the cat. From there they worked with pick axes and crowbars to break down the walls. Huge stones flung over the wall destroyed the beffroi and it was decided to make a further assault with ladders. Jon hated the ladders because he was scared of heights. He hung back and watched. Lancelot’s people at the top of the battlements pushed the ladders over or threw molten tar, boiling water or stones. Soldiers dropped like flies and everyone in Arthur’s army began to feel dispirited. As they battled on Jon could sense that Arthur was loosing control of his army. On the forth day Sir Gawain had enough. He could see that this was going nowhere. He mounted his horse and rode up to the castle gates. He sat there with a spear in his hands and shouted to Lancelot. “Where art thou now, thou false traitor, Lancelot? Why hides’t thou within the walls, like a coward?” This effrontery was like ‘red rag to a bull’ and Sir Lancelot just had to defend is honor after what he had promised weeks ago. They all waited. The sounds of battle silenced. Eventually the gates opened and Sir Lancelot rode, looking magnificent, in full armor. His breastplate shone in the morning sun and Jon thought how splendid he looked. Everyone stopped. They looked from Sir Gawain to Sir Lancelot as they sat on their horses staring at each other. Silence ensued. Without a word they pointed their lances and spears and charged like thunder toward and passed each other. “Phew! That was close,” Moran said, standing next to Jon. “Lancelot certainly has a way with a lance.” Jon said, feeling the tension mount. On the next run Sir Gawain broke his lance on Sir Lancelot’s breastplate and tumbled to the ground. Sir Lancelot rallied with a mighty blow that knocked him off his horse. He scrambled to his feet and was just able to clutch his sword when Sir Gawain charged at him. He missed and Lancelot scrambled to get his shield. All other fighting stopped as men on both sides gathered around to watch.

Arthur sat on his horse and felt every blow the pair, he loved dearly, delivered to each other. They fought on and on. Sir Lancelot tried many moves to break Sir Gawain’s stroke and courage but he failed. Gawain was going to fight on until he had avenged his brothers’ lives. For three hours they fought, until Sir Gawain’s strength weakened. Sir Lancelot saw his chance and he doubled his strokes. He struck a near fatal blow at Sir Gawain’s helmet. Sir Gawain collapsed and fainted. When Sir Gawain’s came round he accused Sir Lancelot again for being a traitor. Everyone fully expected Sir Lancelot to kill him there and then. However, Lancelot shrugged and walked away saying, “I will do no more than I have done. I would not kill a wounded man!” As he left, Sir Gawain was still shouting. He fell to the ground where he was picked up by his men and carried away to his tent. For the next three weeks Sir Gawain lay sick in his tent. His men were tired, weary and ready to return home and so was Jon. He had had enough. He longed to sleep in a bed on a soft mattress, with his quilt keeping him warm. The ground in his tent was too hard. He also longed for shower and a good meal. “What are we having for a meal tonight?” he asked Moran. “A special treat! Corwin, caught a rabbit today while the fighting was on.” A special treat, thought Jon. “I am not eating a rabbit!” he had one at home as a pet. “I think I fancy some salted meat, tonight,” he said to Moran who had a surprised look on his face because a rabbit was luxury and a change from salted meat. He chewed his salted meat as the rest of the tent enjoyed the rabbit. They waited around the castle until one morning; Arthur received a verbal message brought to him by a horseman, sent by his Queen Guinevere. “Arthur, my Lord, my sovereign. Come back. There wilt be trouble. Mordred has been busy sending messages to London, convincing the House of Lords that you are dead and that he, Mordred, is now the rightful King of all Britain. “I have fled to seek refuge in the white Tower of London. I am tightly locked in but come and get me before Mordred comes after me. He wants to marry me and he is getting together an army. He intends to come to kill you. Get you out of the way. Beware of Nimue. I do not think she works to help you. She is evil.” Mordred had not only proclaimed himself the new King of Britain but also commanded Guinevere to marry him. Guinevere was smarter than Mordred. She told him that before she could marry him, she needed to go to London for some new clothes. When she got there, she locked herself into the Tower of London and waited. She knew instinctively that Arthur was not dead!

Arthur, tired with the fight against Lancelot and alarmed at the prospects of not only loosing his kingdom but also his wife, immediately set about returning to London. He had no strength to take on Nimue at this point. ‘We are off again,’ thought Jon, watching the flurry of the court as they left. Sir Mordred, somehow heard a whisper about Arthur’s return to fight him. ‘Nimue again,’ Jon thought. Mordred had sent urgent messages to all the barons in the country, slighting Arthur’s reign and promising them all more under his reign. They believed him and by the time he marched on Arthur to take him by surprise, Mordred had gathered a great army. As the two armies approached, Jon found himself about to enter into another battle. He assessed the army in front of him. The men stretched as far as Jon could see on the horizon. He slumped on his horse. This time it was a battle to save Arthur’s life. One that he did not think they could win. The knights thundered across the field. They were yelling their names like talisman and waving their swords in the air above their heads. The archers’ slotted arrows to their bows and the pike men blocked the oncoming charge. The noise of the charge was deafening and soon the field was a seething mass of horsemen. The air filled with arrows, flashing swords and lances. Dust and dirt flew around in whirls, making it hard to see your opponent. Jon quickly looked around and decided that there was no shape or order to the battle. It’s like a scrum in a football match. “I have played all these games at home with Troy, spent many hours working out strategies but this is sheer slaughter,” he shouted as he wielded his sword against the oncoming enemy. “Sire, bring Sir Belvedere’s army in from the left flank,” Jon attempted to shout to Arthur to tell him to keep his armies together. Arthur was too far away to hear. Jon shouted louder. He was convinced with the use of a few tactics they could win the battle. ‘I must convince Arthur that we need to train these men to do what they are told. Have a look at them. When they get on a battlefield they just go berserk! It is as if they don’t care about their own lives.’ He charged into the throng, shouting, “ ‘Kami Kazi’…the lot of you.” Protecting Arthur was the hardest thing Jon had ever had to do in his short life. It was as much a surprise to Jon, many hours later when he sensed they were winning over Sir Mordred. Arthur seemed to have more men fighting for him than when the battle started. How many men had defected back to Arthur when they saw that their sovereign was not dead will never be known. Jon also felt this was what saved the battle for Arthur, along with some of the tactics that had taken Mordred completely by surprise. Sir Mordred, Jon saw, disappeared from the field, realizing he was loosing

the battle. ‘Arthur won another battle,’ Jon thought. ‘It’s a miracle, and even more of a miracle that I was not killed, let alone Arthur.’ He winced. It had been a heavy time and Jon was struggling to keep going. When the day’s battle was over, he indulged himself by taking a few quiet moments to think what it would be like to be out on his surfboard, catching a wave. ‘I never want to try to fight another battle again,’ he thought. ‘Not even a pretend battle! I want to go home!’ He came out of his dreaming when Moran came into the tent and informed him that Sir Gawain was not so well. Jon went to Sir Gawian’s tent and saw him lying close to death from the opening of the wound that Lancelot had inflicted on him a month ago. Jon bent over him and an idea flashed into his head. ‘What if I could persuade Sir Gawain to forgive Sir Lancelot? If that was possible, I could thwart Nimue and restore some order in Arthur’s court.’ The thought gave him pleasure and he knew Gawain loved the king and would wish him no harm. ‘All this would be over and Arthur could return home. Sir Lancelot would be the person to protect Arthur. Not me! Perhaps I could then go home!’ Miraculously he found words to say to the dying man. “If you dearly love your king and hate Mordred, you will realize that Sir Lancelot is the only one left to protect him. Please, I beg of you, make it right with the king before you go.” The stench of rotting flesh was awful and as Jon got up to go he felt nauseated. Sir Gawain raised his hand slowly and falteringly said, “Bring me pen and paper.” When Jon returned with the pen, paper, and the king, Sir Gawain dictated and Jon wrote down what he said. Jon could see the looks of amazement on the faces as he wrote down the words, “unto Sir Lancelot, flower of all noble knights, I, Sir Gawain, nephew of the king, send thee greeting. On this 10th day of May, through the same wound that you gave me, I will die. My death is my own doing. Had I not sought to kill you, I would still be alive. I beseech you, Sir Lancelot to return again with all haste to rescue our noble King from the traitor Mordred, my own half brother.” With great difficulty, Sir Gawain managed to sign his name. Jon was astonished Gawain did what was needed without so much as a fuss. He knew he was dying. The mood in the tent was somber. Sir Gawain, Arthur and Jon wept. “Send this post haste to Lancelot. Bid him come to me,” said Arthur as he handed to letter to a messenger. Sir Gawain was given the sacrament of the last rights and he died shortly after, with Arthur and Jon beside him. His burial service took place in the chapel of the nearest castle. Arthur wept the whole night through for the loss of his loyal subject.

That night as Jon sat quietly with Arthur and the other knights around a campfire, “I recognize this place. It was here,” Arthur, told them. ”It was here, many years ago that Merlin brought to receive his Excalibur sword.” Jon shivered, hoping Arthur had not seen him. ‘This is it!’ He thought numbly. ‘Merlin has brought him here again for yet another good reason.... To die... The end is in sight!’ Arthur went on to tell them the story about the sword he had taken from the stone many years ago, the one, which made him king. “However,” he said, “it was broken into two pieces during a duel early in my reign. Merlin promised me another and one day, he took me to a beautiful lake, in a forest, quite near where we are now. I shall never forget it. It was so beautiful.” “When we arrived,” Arthur went on to relate, “I saw a very strange sight. There in front of me was a woman’s arm protruding from the lake, and in it, she held a sword. The sword was magnificent and I wished I could have it. Suddenly, The Lady of the Lake appeared out of nowhere and told me to take it.” ‘Wear it in the scabbard and no matter how wounded you are, you will not loose a drop of blood. It will guard you and keep you safe. No man will use it but you.’ ‘And, me’ thought Jon. ‘I was allowed to use it to slay the giant.’ He reflected on what Arthur had told him as he went back to his tent that night. ‘What a beautiful story.’ During the night, Jon had a bad dream. “This is the last battle. The realm of Arthur will fall into darkness.” The voice was Sir Gawain’s. “I have been brought here to warn you, if King Arthur fights Sir Mordred tomorrow, both of them will fall. I came to tell you to try and call a truce for a month, until Lancelot can get there to protect and help Arthur.” ‘Lancelot will not get here in time,’ Jon thought sadly. It will all be over before he arrives. Next morning, Jon was not surprised t heard Mordred was back to wage war on Arthur. He hurriedly related his dream to Arthur when he went into his tent. Arthur listened thoughtfully, much disturbed, and to Jon’s surprise, he called Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere to him. “Take two priests and go and make a months truce with Mordred. Offer him any lands that he wants.” Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere were away for a long time. Jon and Arthur paced up and down waiting for the outcome. Eventually they returned with an agreement. Mordred agreed to have the counties of Cornwall and Kent, to be his immediately, and he wanted the rest of Britain after Arthur’s death.

Arthur sighed when he heard the ultimatum. “So be it.” It was also arranged that Arthur and Mordred were to meet midway between the two armies, each attended by only fourteen men. There they would sign the agreement. Arthur gave an order to his men. He still did not trust Mordred. “If you see any sword drawn, charge fiercely and slay that traitor Mordred, for I do not trust him.” Unbeknown to Arthur, Mordred gave more or less the same order to his men. Jon could not believe what happened next as he sat uneasily waiting for them to return. The agreement was signed by both of them and they were drinking a toast when a slimy snake came out of the bush, and stung one of Mordred’s knights. The knight’s reflex reaction was to draw his sword to kill the serpent. All Arthur’s men saw was the glint of the sword and they reacted. A great shout arose from either side. In a flash, the battle was on. . The battle had taken the whole day. Jon had been so involved protecting Arthur that he had not noticed time passing. It had been the hardest battle for Jon. He doubted whether he ever wanted to be involved in another battle. “ I weary,” he said to Moran as he dismounted. Later, wandering through the battlefield, Jon found the snake that one of Mordred’s men killed. It lay in pieces, scattered across the blood sodden ground. Its tongue lolling out of the head and its poisonous fangs exposed. “ If that is you Nimue,” he said emphatically. “I hope you have been slaughtered. I hope you have been stopped in your tracks.” He paused. “I sincerely hope you can no longer practice your treachery and deceit on Arthur and this realm.” He walked away doubting whether the snake was Nimue, the sorceress. ‘In your dreams.’ Had he looked behind him, he would have seen the severed pieces of the snake languidly form together as the wand Nimue usually carried with her. It was not until after this sad battle was over and Jon accompanied Arthur around the field to survey the scene of waste that he realized how devastating it had been. Dead men lay scattered across the field, many with the look of horror on their faces, blood running in rivulets around them. ‘It’s worse than an abattoir.’ Jon conceded. Arthur counted his dead knights and in despair, he announced that there were only two knights, plus Jon left.... Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere. All the rest were slain. Sir Ector was amongst the slain and the news saddened Jon. During the battle, Sir Ector stopped in the thick of it because he saw the ‘ghost of ages past.’ He sighted his vision of Sir Jon going to save Arthur. He still thought of him as Ruhtra. On the battlefield, the shining halo was again above his head and Ruhtra thrust and parried with a knight who was about to kill Arthur. It was the same vision of the young blue-eyed boy that had ridden into his stable with his father, Gwin many years ago and he knew also this battle would end his life. Alas, one of Mordred’s men

had taken advantage of Sir Ector’s momentary standstill to dream and pierced him with his sword, knocking him off his horse. As he lay waiting for death it suddenly became clear to him, who Ruhtra was... The spirit of Arthur! He was sent by Merlin to protect Arthur from himself and ‘I’ve helped in this,’ he thought. ‘I have helped to save my king.’ With this knowledge, Sir Ector closed his eyes, dying a happy man. The light faded and a dreadful hush spread over the battlefield. Arthur wept to know all his loyal subjects were slain. “Oh God!” he cried, “ What has become of all my noble knights? Alas, I now know that my end has come.... Yet, I wish that I could find that traitor Mordred...He who has caused all this sorrow and destruction.” He looked up and was clearly startled to see Sir Mordred, not too far away, leaning on his sword amongst the dead. “Jon, Give me my spear,” Arthur said excitedly. “For yonder I see the traitor!” Jon tried very hard to stop Arthur. “Sire, remember last night’s dream!” “Come life or death, I will kill this man who has done so much wrong.” Jon offered Arthur the Excalibur sword but Arthur still insisted on a spear. Arthur took his spear instead of his trusty sword and charged toward Mordred. He charged into the duel, shouting, “Traitor, I bring you death!” Jon ran after Arthur with the sword that would protect him, but he was too late. When Mordred saw the king running, he ran at him with his sword fully extended but Arthur dodged, just managing to get his spear under Mordred’s shield, piercing it right through his body. However when Mordred fell, he was gripping his own sword with two hands and Arthur did not have time to get out of the way before it hit him on the head. The sword cut into Arthur’s helmet and deep into his skull. Arthur fell slowly into the arms of Jon. Jon was mortified. He knew it was coming soon and he should have known that Arthur, without his sword, was unprotected but it had all happened so quickly. The three remaining knights rushed over to the crumpled Arthur and carried him to the little chapel by the side of the lake that Arthur had described in his dreams. There he lay between consciousness and unconsciousness. At one point, when he became conscious, Arthur commanded Jon to bring his trusty sword. To Sir Bedivere, he said, “my time hath come. Take you, my Excalibur to the side of yon lake and throw it in the water. Come again and tell me what thou seest.” “My lord, your wish is my command,” Sir Bedivere said as he left. When Sir Bedivere got to the side of the water, he could not bring himself to throw such a priceless object in the water, so he hid it and returned.

“What did you see?” said Arthur as he gasped for breath. “Sire, I saw nothing but wind and waves.” “Then you did not throw it. Do not lie, but go again and do it!” He returned, having still not had the heart to throw the sword away. Arthur asked the same question. “Sire, I saw nothing but the waves lapping the shore.” “Ha! A traitor... but twice. Go this time and do what I ask. You putteth me in great jeopardy of my life, just for the greed of jewels on the hilt of the sword.” This time Sir Bedivere did as he was bid and when he threw the sword, a hand reached out of the water, caught it and vanished with the sword, back into the water. Sir Bedivere was too stunned by the experience this time not to give the right answer. The one Arthur wanted to hear... Arthur sighed. He had known that the Lady of the Lake would now be waiting for him. “I am ready,” he said in a whisper.” I am ready.” Jon was very mystified by all this. He may have read the tale before but his memories were very hazy. He knew it was time and he had done his job as best he could, but he did not know what would happen next. He was far too tired to really worry. Arthur turned his head to Jon. “Come Sir Jon, my spirit, my knight. We have tarried too long. We must go to the waterside” Jon’s heart was as heavy as his body. He knew it was time to leave. Too tired to think, he was plagued by mixed feelings and visions. He had enjoyed his adventure. He knew more about what really happened in the myths and legends of King Arthur than anyone else he knew. He had to leave Gwin, Merde and Moran; people that he had learned to love and who loved him. He reasoned that before he left he should send a message via Moran that he had been killed in action. They would grieve but think he died a honorable death. Better than just disappearing without trace, he thought. Sad to leave, his work done, Jon carried the King on his back and when they reached the lake, he was not surprised to see there was a barge by the shore; with four fair ladies dressed in black, waiting. “Take me into the barge and we will away.... We will away into the vale of Avalon.... There to heal the wound of my head.” Arthur whispered as they moved away from the shore. Jon glanced back. Standing on the side of the lake in the moonlight was Sir Lancelot, mounted on his horse, the light profiling his outline. He waved good-bye and Lancelot waved back. Just as he turned, he also sighted the silhouette of Nimue dancing by the side of the lake. He cringed and shut his eyes, wishing she were dead and out of harms way. Opening his eyes and mumbling to himself, he observed the dance she was performing, looked decidedly like a dance of victory. He had no doubt that she

was more than pleased to see the back of Arthur. He sighed. ‘She’s won…or has she? With Mordred dead and Arthur gone, on whom will she weave her deceitfulness?’ Nimue, intent on dancing with elation, did not see the Excalibur sword that rose majestically through the mists from a hand rising from the lake, until it Flashed towards her and speared her through the heart. Without a sound, she crumpled to the ground. Jon stared, unable to believe his eyes. Letting out a huge sigh of relief, he said loudly. “ Did I bring that about by my wish?” A small charge of electricity passed through his body as he contemplated the awesome powers he had gathered along the way. “That’s enough now Merlin. I want to go home and be myself….please.” A loud bellowing laugh and clap of thunder filled the air. The sky clouded over and the mists on the lake rose. Arthur and ‘the spirit of Arthur’ disappeared into the mists. On their way through to the vales of Avalon. “‘Here leaves Arthur, king that was and king that shall be,’” Jon chanted.

Chapter 21 In St. Helen’s hospital, Avalon, Australia, reporters were hounding Jon’s real parents. “How do you feel now you know who ran Jon down? What do you think happened to the man?” The news spread like wildfire throughout Avalon. After weeks of searching, the red car had been traced. It had been hidden on the night of the accident in a garage of a farm situated on the outskirts of the town. A neighbor had seen the plea on television for anybody to report if they knew the whereabouts of the red car. She came forward with the location of what she thought might be the red car. When the police surrounded the farm and broke into the garage, they found the red car inside covered in dust, with the identical shade of red paint and the same tire treads. The evidence had to be checked by the forensic lab but they were quite sure they had the right offender. They moved to the house to arrest the man. The man was nowhere to be seen. A police officer entered the house and stopped in his tracks. He stared at the extraordinary sight. Some of the furniture in the living room was burned and charred. In the middle of the circle of furniture was a thick circle of white ash. The Inspector came in, looked, and then scratched his head. He searched his mind. He had heard of this before.... Yes, he had! “Death by internal combustion,” was his verdict. “The body burns from inside. I do not quite know how. It just burns slowly and in this case, has left a ring of ashes and charred furniture. Goodness only knows why it didn’t burn the rest of the house!” he added, indicting that no one was to move inside the circle. They searched around and could not find any evidence of the man’s name. No papers to identify the burnt out body and no food or clothing. Bewildered, they questioned the next-door neighbor. She did not know for sure but she felt that his name sounded something like ‘Rice.’ She thought he worked at the high school. She asked his name one day as he passed her coming out of the post office. She was surprised to be told by the postmistress that he lived in the next farm to hers. She could not remember seeing such a strange person before. The police visited the post office. The postmistress was on holiday. Still bewildered, they visited the school. The principal informed him there had been a Mr. Grice working at the school. “He left a couple of weeks ago,” the principal added pensively. “As did Ms. Newman. They both kind of disappeared around the same time.” He coughed. “No connection.

Mr. Grice was old enough to be Ms. Newman’s father! Both were so clever and popular with the boys that they are sorely missed.” Ms. Newman left the area, we believe, because she was purportedly in love with some fellow. The mystery was solved, however unresolved. There was no person or body for the police to charge. All they knew was that the name of the missing person was Grice. Jon’s parents were too stunned by this information to answer any of the questions from reporters at the hospital. Jon lay there as machines hummed away, giving him life support. There was still no change in his condition. Six weeks had passed without a movement from Jon. His desperate mother wanted him to wake up. She would have given anything for him to return to them. As the weeks passed their hope was giving out. They knew they had little time left and that soon they would be asked to switch off the machine and let him go in peace. Again they just sat there as they had done for many hours, staring and hoping. His mother was holding his hand as usual when she thought she felt a movement in hers. She blinked and looked at his face. ‘I must be dreaming again,’ she thought. She looked at his lovely serene face and thought she saw slight movement. Not believing her eyes she looked again. Ever so slowly, Jon’s eyelids flickered. It happened again. This time his eyes opened. His mother caught her breath motioning to his father. They both peered down at Jon. “Jon...Are you there?...Jon.... It’s Mum. Open your eyes again sweetheart.... Open your eyes!” she cried quietly. Jon squeezed her hand lightly and she began to cry. The tears streamed down her face as his eyelids fluttered and his eyes opened. They closed again. She wanted to shake him awake. She was mesmerized and not believing her eyes. “What if we were seeing things again? What a cruel joke that would be!” his father said. Jon opened his eyes again and this time he looked at his mother and father. A croak came from his throat and a faint smile crossed his face. “Hi Mum...Hi! Dad...” It was just a whisper but to both of them it sounded like a shout. They sat there for ages full of disbelief, waiting for more to happen, hoping that it was not a dream. His father got up and went to get the doctor. The room was filled with doctors and nurses. Everyone just gaped. The doctor asked Jon to squeeze his hand and Jon did, ever so weakly. He asked him to talk but only a grunt came out.

“He seems to be responding. The fact he recognized you both is a good sign although he may have to learn to talk, walk and move again. It will take time. However, the signs are good. We will not know for sure until we do further tests.” His mother stayed all night. She was not going to miss one minute of being with her son. Jon slept peacefully throughout the night. Next morning when his mother woke from the chair, Jon’s eyes were open. He was staring at her. She could see that he was clutching something in his right hand. She leaned over to look. It looked like a little wooden whittled figure in the shape of a person. It wore a crown on the head. It was a king. She stood there wondering where it had come from, when she realized that Jon was trying to say something. She leaned over to listen. “Mom.” ...Jon said in a whisper… “I.... am so glad...to.... be...alive.... and home.” The End

About The Author Pat Riordan was born and educated in England. She taught in schools in England, until she emigrated to Australia where she has taught visual arts in numerous schools, met her husband, brought up children and longed to be able to spend the time on her dream of writing. She recently moved to the north coast of NSW, to a small town called Yamba, taught for a few years and then decided to retire and pursue he dream of writing. Since retiring, she has explored writing in a number of genre. - Children’s illustrated, Young Adult fiction and Adult fiction. Her published books can be viewed at: http://au.geocities.com/patty_2464/Index.html

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