The Song of Wessex
* * *
Melun Castle – August 1351
It was as if a hall of mirrors. Every one staring back at him. Carved portraits hung that looked different but he saw in them all the same thing. Himself. A ruler, a king, an Emperor…a failure? Yet how could that be? Every one that was represented...they had achieved some thing. Some more than others. Great men...and women...they had built or protected the realm. First England and now the Empire that Arthur had built. They were not failures...so how could he be such a thing?
“You’ll have to excuse me, my Lord...my head’s not quite right,” a voice suggested and Arthur turned to spy an unfamiliar figure.
He was even more shocked to see blood dripping from the man’s neck, “Who are you?! How did you get past my guards?!”
“Of course you may not know me,” the man stated, “For I lived rather long ago. I see that you stare at my neck. Yes...the wilds of Scotland. You’ve held your troubles to there as well, methinks. I told you that my head is not right...for it came clean off, sir. You’d know a thing or two about that as well, I’d wager.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes and asked with suspicion, “So how can you be here? I say again...tell me your name!”
“My likeness is surely in that book you read from time to time. I am surprised that you do not recognize me. After all...I am Eadwin of Hwicce, Lord of Mercia and Hereford. And I saw young Eadgar to the throne...that which you now hold. Come now...show a little respect, sir.”
“That’s impossible,” Arthur suggested strongly, “I did not think to be dreaming.”
“You did not?” Eadwin questioned with an amused brow, “Then how is that you walk? You’ve been nearly bedridden for over a month now.”
Arthur now noticed it. When before, his legs ached more and more, now he was walking throughout the gallery without even the assistance of his cane. He turned to Eadwin with shock, “Have I...”
“Finally passed on to God?” the Lord finished the question for him with a smirk, “Think that I may be a guest to your reception?”
“I know not,” Arthur replied, “Where are we?”
“Why...no other place but your fine castle to Melun,” Eadwin looked around with an impressed eye, “You’ve done well.”
“Why not my fine palace to Westminster?” another voice asked.
Arthur turned to see the visage of Eadward the Confessor come to life before him, “You’ve been away too long, my Lord. England is missing of you, methinks.”
Like a young school boy, Lord Eadwin could not help but show a bow before the great Confessor, “His demesne has grown larger than that, Your Grace.”
The Confessor shot a glare to the Duke, “Know it well I do. What was wrong with our fine Saxon land, lad? We of Wessex worked long and hard to make it mighty.”
“I cannot possibly be in hell,” Arthur showed wonderment at Eadward the Confessor, “You are surely not in hell.”
“Do not be so certain of that,” the great King answered, “Just like the rest of us, I had to do certain things...certain unpleasant things. Why think you that I gained my moniker?”
“He’s right!” another voice added to the mix, “Made many promises...ones he could not keep.”
“Oh, do shut up!” yet one more voice stated and William of Normandy stood in front of Harold Godwinson, “If you’d taken your licks like a good little lad, none of the rest of this would have been a trouble. Normandy would rule over all.”
“I took my licks and your sword, sir!” Harold was just as adamant, “And left you my poor whelp of a son instead.”
Arthur looked behind the scion of Godwin to see Godwine of Godwin hiding, “Both of your houses are now proud, sirs. In truth...Godwin rules in Normandy at the now.”
In unison, they both proclaimed, “God’s balls!!!”
Eadwin waved a hand and most seemed to disappear, “Yet not you, my Lord William...we’ve not yet finished with you.”
The old Norman Duke stomped around, “Not finished with me?! Next you’ll be producing your protege...or worse...your damnable brother!”
Arthur turned to face the wood carvings and the faces of King Eadgar and King Morcar came to life before him. The first with a kind smile and the latter with a fierce grin. Eadwin shifted to stand next to Arthur, “More bitter foes you will not find, my Lord. And yet...sometimes friends. It is funny how things work.”
“That one killed the both of us!” William gestured towards Eadgar.
“Nay, my Lord,” Eadgar replied with a calm mind, “I believe you to be both the murderer and the victim of your own perfidy.”
Morcar kept his grin to Arthur, “Neither one killed me. Died of old age and the drink and kept them all guessing. Even now. My ultimate revenge. You’d know something of that...wouldn’t you?”
“Now, now Morcar...we are here to help His Majesty King Arthur of all Britain,” Eadwin moved to stand beside his brother and both looked to Arthur with a curious amusement.
Morcar looked him up and down, “He does seem very old indeed.”
“Just now eighty and one,” Eadwin replied, “And here you thought the Ætheling had a fine long life.”
“Longer than ours,” Morcar allowed a disdainful look towards King Eadgar before turning back to Arthur, “Pray tell, my Lord...what is your secret?”
Eadgar did not allow him to answer, “Revenge for perceived wrong doing.”
“That may sustain a man,” Eadwin nodded with appreciation.
Morcar was having none of it, “Bah! There was never a soul that did well by me my entire life. Not even you, brother. Especially not you! What good did it do me? None but see my child King dead before he found his maturity.”
“Likely also your fault,” Eadwin suggested as an aside.
Eadgar kept his eyes to Arthur, “Nay, my Lord. That was I. It was no easy task, I may assure you. Yet I did always say...the crown was my right by blood. No Godwin nor man of Normandy would sit it long, nor even you Morcar of Hwicce. You tried to steal it. And then I gained both my revenge and my throne.”
“Ætheling...” Eadwin showed some wonder in his eyes, “...I think you to have never sounded so certain and assured of yourself. So honest and forthright.”
The old King kept his gaze to Arthur, “I am dead, my Lords. What else should I do?”
“You might have told me the truth,” the squeak of a wheel alerted them and they turned to spy an infirm King Uhtræd staring at them with burning eyes as he sat his wheeled chair, “Everyone of you...even you, Arthur of Wessex...you held tight to secrets. Ill deeds, done cheaply. Did you ever suffer?”
Arthur was quick to speak, “I! I have suffered! My wife and children are gone from me! My heirs...they die before ever given chance to fly! Friends...young and old...”
“He will go on, brother,” another Eadward moved to stand behind Uhtræd’s chair, “I’ve watched him like a hawk since he was but a young lad. The promise of Wessex...my promise.”
The aged Eadgar narrowed his brow at his second son, “He’s been better than that dullard boy of yours.”
“Father...” Uhtræd turned slowly, “...leave him be. At least Eadward had sons that wished it. Not something that you could say...nor I. And this one?”
Uhtræd pointed a pained finger towards Arthur, “He does have trouble keeping them around.”
“They did always bicker,” Eadwin shifted behind Arthur, “Fathers and sons. One other item you might find familiar. Tell me, my Lord...is this always to be a thing for Wessex?”
Arthur was silent as the former Kings seemed to dissipate into thin air and then turned to the Duke, “You hated your brother...and he you. I did not hate mine. I cannot speak to fathers and sons...”
“I may...and I am glad that he is gone,” another voice answered and Arthur’s great-great-great grandfather appeared. Æthelric looked as forlorn as he did in life, yet the sadness seemed even worse, “I had thought to change that with mine own offspring and yet...I think mine own daughter had me silenced.”
“As you did your wife?” Queen Mary suddenly stood behind her father, “This one and you have that much in common at the least. Not much more.”
Arthur began to say something but Eadwin hushed him, “You would not miss this, my Lord.”
“Mother,” Queen Anne also appeared, “I tried to help you in life. I try to help you now. I know of bitterness...of pain. Yet so much of it...you caused yourself, just as grandfather did.”
“Speak not to me in that tone, girl!” Mary was insistent, “I’ll not have it!”
Æthelric went to Anne, “I wished that I might have known you. You are such a pretty lass...and such a fine Queen. Wessex will always be proud of you.”
“Yet so was my mother,” Anne suggested with love, “She was often misunderstood. Sad, in her own way...as much as you.”
Mary did not care for the sweetness, “That changes no fact! He killed his wife and so did this one! My father never got on with his own...and this one never got on with his son. Thank God I had a daughter!”
She stormed off and Æthelric seemed to fade away, but Anne stepped closer to Arthur and held to his cheek, “My great-grandson. Who might have thought that you would turn out this way? It was never supposed to be you. It was my Ælfstan and then his. And Arnold after that. Yet a war can change all things. This you know all too well. And while you have done such grand things...your time is soon to an end. So is yours, my Lord.”
Eadwin looked surprised, “Mine was gone long ago, my Lady Queen.”
“Nay, my Lord,” she softly dropped her hand with a smile, “He has others to see. More personal. Yet we do thank you for being such a fine guide.”
And then suddenly they were both gone and Arthur’s legs began to feel heavy once more. Sitting quickly to a stone bench in the center of the gallery, he was joined by another unfamiliar figure, “It is a shame that I did not know you.”
Arthur looked up to spy a tall man that looked very much like his father, “Should we have?”
“Of course...” the man sat beside him, “...I am your grandfather. I did never have a fine moniker like my mother or my son...nor you. Yet our paths only briefly crossed in time.”
“The day you passed to God...” Arthur remembered, “...was the day that I was born.”
“There you are,” the elder Ælfstan smiled before looking to the carvings, “Yet what a rouges gallery we have here. I think to have never seen such a thing to Westminster. What is it, lad? Do you come here to be reminded? Or to be haunted?”
Arthur questioned himself, “I don’t remember coming here at all.”
“Few do,” King Ælfstan replied as he placed a kind hand to Arthur’s knee, “Yet you have done well, as they have said. Taken what my mother gained and added to it in every way. I suspect my learned brother was of great assistance to you in your learning for surely it was not my son.”
“Uncle Geoffrey...” Arthur felt ten years old again, “...was wonderful. But so was father. In truth...I have never forgotten either of them.”
King Ælfstan gave nod, “How well I know. One must always follow what comes after. Yet to take the Kingdom of England and Wales...such that it had ever been...and add so much more. You must be very proud.”
The elder Ælfstan lowered his head as a tear formed and another came from behind, “He lived a very sad life, my son. A most powerful man. A Prince and a Lord and ultimately Lord Chancellor after his father died. Yet he lost his brother John to Scotland and could never live up to my grandmother. He and my mother combined the long rival factions of Wessex and Lancaster and his greatest hopes were in me. Yet I would not return. Happy was I to remain to France and care for my sweet Adela as she was already Countess and not of age.”
As one Ælfstan stood to peruse the gallery, the other sat, “You’ve held a rather wild night.”
Arthur looked to his father with pain in his eyes, “I’ve held a rather wild life.”
“And who may be faulted for that?” Ælfstan questioned with a grin.
“It was said...it was not supposed to be me!” Arthur returned with a stern gaze, “It was always supposed to be Arn...and then...he died!”
Ælfstan held firmly to his son’s face, “That’s your maman’s gaze, lad. She could always find fault with God. With any other that was not herself. I fear that you learned from the wrong parent, as much as I did find love for my Lady wife. Yet you have made your own choices and lived by them. None here were wrong. You’ve done well. What was once a small kingdom on half an isle is now an Empire. We forebears gained quite a lot...but you, lad...you have done more than all of us combined.”
“Then why...” Arthur looked once more to all of the carvings, “...why do I feel so empty?”
“Come now, monsieur!” Amedee sat to his other side, “This is not the lad I taught! Not the boy that would become a great King!”
Aveline stood behind the great Lord Marshal, “You are forgetting, sir. To kill a babe? To kill an old woman? To kill me?!”
“Each in turn, Arturus,” his father held an arm strongly to his shoulder, “What have you to say?”
Suddenly Arturo appeared before him and knelt to hear the answer as well. Arthur struggled and felt the tears sting his face. He finally looked to his father and shouted, “I am guilty! Of all of these crimes! Guilty!”
Aveline turned away with scorn, “He lies. I did most of the work. He barely made the progress with me.”
“She is untrue, father!” Arthur cried out and then turned to his dead son, “I knew! I always knew! That is why! That is why I had to...”
The middle Arthur lowered his head to stare at the stone floor, “That is why you had to see her dead.”
Arthur tried to stand but could not, “I did not murder your son!!!”
“I know,” the Prince/King replied, “Yet my Maudy will make her accounting.”
“I have tried, Arturo!” Arthur reached out his hands, “I do promise you...I have tried!”
“It is no use, my son,” Ælfstan held Arthur close.
Amedee leaned in, “It is no use.”
“It is no use!” Aveline looked to him with scorn.
“They are right, father...” the younger Arthur followed, “...it is no use.”
Arthur tried to answer them all, “I have time! I can make it right!”
“Your time comes to a close, Arturus,” his father replied, “You are a man that never loses and for that, I may be proud. Yet this is a battle that you will never win.”
“Mon pere...” Arthur looked to his father with a plea, “...I did it all for you.”
They all said in unison, “No you did not!”
“Your face!” he shouted at them, “I would never forget it! All that I might do to avenge...”
“Would never be over,” Ælfstan answered him, “My God, Arturus. You are eighty and one. Far past your biblical age. You have reigned for over fifty years. You have done great things...and horrible things. I am not your judge. I am not your guide. I am only your father. And I tell you...as you have no one else...it is time to quit. Are you prepared?”
“Julich!” Arthur protested, “There is still Julich!”
Ælfstan stood and all else faded away. His father began to do the same but left with a parting word, “You must leave it for the boy. You’ve done your part. It is time to go.”
“I...I am not yet ready,” Arthur shouted to no one, “I am not yet finished!”
Letitia had watched him thrash about in bed and tried to stop him but finally his eyes opened with great horror in them and she scolded, “Mon Dieu! Ever since you returned from Hainaut you have been changed...”
“I...” Arthur looked to her face but could not recognize it, “I...must...”
“It is no use, Arthur,” Emma answered him, “It is time to go.”
“I...”
He said not another word.
Great sobs poured forth from Letitia as she hovered over his body and tried to revive him, but it was no use. At age eighty one and after fifty seven years as King and then Emperor, Arthur of Wessex was dead. His hand print was on every part of the Empire of Britain. Arthur the Just...Arthur the Conqueror...the German slayer...the Irascible...the Stern-eyed...the Emperor. While writers of later ages would call him all of these things and more...his creation of Britain...his hold on France...his very own Rome to rival the greatest of Empires...this Arthur was gone and had left to him only his great-grandson to follow at nine years old. Arthur of Wessex had fought...and lost.
