Chapter Thirteen

“I already know how to read. What more can he teach me?”

“More than you would gain by simply reading books.”

Arthur held Edmund’s irate stare, refusing to back down. “I don’t wish to spend my days shut in a room. I’ll learn more by being out in the–”

“Wild?” Edmund practically barked the word. “I’ve had enough of you running wild.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Arthur’s voice was rising to match his father’s. “I want to be out with the soldiers, in the forest, anywhere so long as it is outside.”

“You are not old enough to ride with my men.”

“I’m already twelve. And you allow me on boar hunts.”

“Yes. Because I allow it. Because your place is where I tell you, and I tell you now to go to your tutor.”

Breathing heavily, Arthur stared at Edmund, knowing there was no way he was going to be allowed to win this particular fight. Still he shouted, “No.” Without waiting for a reaction, he ran out of the room, his father’s furious voice echoing in his ears.

He ran out into the courtyard. He ran past the guard tower and he did not stop running until he reached the far wall. Panting loudly, he fell to his knees and punched the ground, wincing when his knuckles connected with small hidden stones. As his breathing gradually evened out, he slowly sat with his back against the wall.

Pulling up small tufts of grass, he absently chucked them aside, wondering, yet again, why his father refused to understand. Now that he knew his letters, Arthur firmly believed he could learn for himself whatever he wished. He didn’t see why he had to be made to learn what he didn’t need.

Resting his arms on his drawn-up knees, he tilted his head back to stare at the sky. The sun momentarily sparking off something caught his attention. Glancing to the side, his breath caught as his eyes widened.

There she was again, the lady in the long deep red tunic with red-tinged hair. Even though she wasn’t that close, he knew and could see that she wore a pendant like the one that had belonged to his mother. He knew because he’d seen her a number of times already, though, at first, he’d thought he’d dreamt her.

She never spoke, only smiled, but he found her presence comforting. Lately, he’d started to think of her as a guardian angel sent by his mother to watch over him.

Do not be angry, young one.

He jumped, eyes stretched wider. The voice had sounded in his head. Up on one knee, he looked around before his gaze slowly returned to rest on her.

She raised a brow, still smiling and he realised it was her voice he’d heard.

“How–?”

It is a skill we possess. Do not be afraid.

“I’m not.” Realising he was whispering, he raised his voice. “I’m not afraid.”

Her smile widened. Think what you wish to say, I will hear you.

“Oh.” Like this?

She nodded.

Are you my… guardian? He wondered if his thought reflected his breathlessness.

You may call me that.

There was so much he wanted to ask her, yet his mind struggled to formulate one rational thought.

Do not be angry with your father. He cares for you and only wishes to do right by you.

Arthur didn’t know how to reply. He started to speak, shook his head and started again, silently, in his mind. We always argue. Lately, I only seem to make him unhappy. Head lowered, he sat cross-legged. I don’t think he trusts me anymore.

But he does, young prince. He struggles to show it for he is fearful of failing you.

“Father, fearful?” The alien thought caused him to speak aloud.

The ethereal being nodded, almost laughing. Do you think your father incapable of feeling fear?

But. He’s Father; he’s not afraid of anything.

She turned serious. He is afraid of losing you.

Arthur opened his mouth but said nothing.

He has been afraid since your mother’s death.

But-but he doesn’t speak of her now. I want to ask him about her but…

She shook her head. Losing someone you love can be too hard a loss for some to bear. Not speaking of her does not mean he no longer loves her. Or you.

After a moment, Arthur’s breath escaped noisily. Blinking, he said, “I didn’t-I mean I–”

Do not be harsh on yourself. You are still young. How could you know? Her sad tone was mirrored in her sad smile.

Wrapping his arms around his stomach, he dropped his chin to his chest. He must have caused his father so much pain each time he’d asked about his mother. Staring at the grass, he furiously blinked back tears. He didn’t want his guardian to see him cry and think him a baby.

“Arthur.”

Startled, he looked up then turned back, but his guardian was fading from view.

She held up a hand in farewell. And stopped, frowning at the boy who was almost at Arthur’s side.

“Are you alright? I saw, you…”

Arthur glanced at him as he fumbled his words. The newcomer was looking in the direction of the woman but kept blinking, seemingly confused. “What is it?” said Arthur, frowning, for he’d always thought he was the only one who could see his guardian.

“I thought-it looked like. Ah, the sun in my eye, playing tricks,” he said, shaking his head.

Arthur wondered why his guardian had looked almost shocked as she’d disappeared.

“What happened?” The boy dropped to sit cross-legged by Arthur. The sun picked out hints of red in his black hair.

Sighing heavily, Arthur said, “Another argument, that’s what happened.”

“With your father?”

He nodded, remembering what his guardian had said. Suddenly, he wanted to run to his father, to hug him and tell him how sorry he was. But he didn’t know how.

Distant sounds wandered towards them; the shouts of soldiers at practice, harmonising with the thudding hooves of horses being exercised; the ebb and flow of servant’s laughter as they went about their work. The smell of wood smoke drifted in the air along with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat.

“Oh, Ronal, I don’t mean to argue with him, but it always ends up that way.” His smile held no humour. “Sometimes, I think he wishes I was more like you.”

Ronal laughed. “I doubt that. To hear Master Tristan tell it, I’m the thickest clod he’s ever had the misfortune to tutor.”

Arthur had to laugh. “What I mean is, you never argue with Father.”

“That’s because he’s my king, not my da. But you ask Emily, she says it’s been so peaceful at home since the king took me on as a page. No shouting, no threatening. Just quiet.”

“So, are all sons destined to argue with their fathers?”

“If we are anything to go by, it would appear so.”

They both burst into loud laughter. Not for the first time, Arthur was thankful for Ronal’s presence. Even though he was the son of the master farrier, the boys had been each other’s playmates for as long as Arthur could remember. When Edmund had suggested that Ronal live in the castle and begin training as a page, Arthur thought his heart would burst with happiness.

“And what are you two doing?”

Startled into silence, they squinted up at the man standing, arms akimbo, in front of them. The late morning sun playing hide-and-seek behind fast drifting clouds turned his hair into spun gold.

“Master Bruce–”

“If you’re done with your lessons,” he said, interrupting Arthur, “shouldn’t you be at tilting practice?” As castle marshal, his duties included maintaining discipline, not only amongst the soldiers, but the pages and squires too.

They scrabbled to their feet, apologising as they ran to the practice yard.