Excerpt from The Flower of Chivaly

The below excerpt is from The Swithen Book 4: The Flower of Chivalry. The first three books brought us from the birth of Merlin up to the birth of the future King Arthur. This novel depicts Arthur’s childhood until he pulls the sword from the stone. 

Arthur has been placed into foster care with Sir and Lady Ector, and their son Kay. As a condition of raising him, they have been told that they can never reveal to the young Arthur that he is not actually their child. Here, Arthur gives voice to his confusion over his parentage, and where he truly belongs.

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Arthur was outside pulling weeds from the garden when Kay came around and asked him if he wanted to go with him and Bedivere to see a beehive that had been discovered in the trunk of a huge dead tree in the forest. Arthur looked at him a while, then he looked away, over at his work, wondering what Kay might be up to. His voice and manner seemed, if not quite welcoming, at least not hostile, and he did like Bedivere and wanted to hang out with him more. Plus—a beehive! Still, he hesitated.

“I have to pull these weeds,” he said.

“You can finish later. I know Mother won’t care if it waits.”

Arthur looked at the field, considered, then stood, gathered the clump of weeds he had pulled, and threw them into the forest. He wiped his hands on his tunic. “All right, lets go,” he said. “Who found the beehive?”

They came around the house to where Bedivere was whacking at grasshoppers with a stick.

“He’s coming, let’s go,” said Kay.

“Hey, Arthur,” said Bedivere.

“Hey,” Arthur replied. All three boys moved across the bright adjacent field and entered the shaded interior of the forest. It was a sunny day, but the season hadn’t advanced enough yet for it to be truly warm, so the boys wore jackets over their tunics. There were small, colorful flowers on the forest floor, but Arthur knew not to stop to look at them because he knew that wouldn’t suit Kay or Bedivere very well.

It wasn’t long before Arthur could hear a rising buzzing sound, and as he looked toward where they were headed, saw a number of bees fluttering in a sunbeam that made its way to the forest floor. Near it was a tree whose insides had rotted away, and within, a large wall of honeycomb, covered over by a constantly moving carpet of bees. The boys sat down at a safe distance and watched. They talked of this and that, awkwardly, since Arthur was new to the group, and in the course of talk, Bedivere made a comment about them all being knights when they were grown. Arthur reddened, looked down and thought, then decided to just talk about it.

“I guess you haven’t heard that my mother and father told me I can’t be a knight,” he said.

Bedivere turned his head and stared. He obviously hadn’t heard. Kay looked downward and grew quiet. They seemed uncomfortable talking of something so embarrassing.

“No, I hadn’t heard that,” Bedivere said. “Not a knight, that’s….” He shook his head, looking at the hive. “Well, I guess there’s other things to be.” His tone made it clear that he couldn’t think of any. “What reason did they give?”

“They said there’s no reason,” Arthur said.

Kay’s eyes remained focused on the ground. Arthur wondered if he was messing up his first invitation to hang out with them, but then, he wouldn’t want to be with them if he couldn’t talk freely.

“First they said that it’s not right two brothers both be knights,” he said.

Bedivere laughed. “That’s hogsfard, there’s—everyone knows of lots of brothers, or whole families, that are knights.”

Kay nodded in agreement.

“Then they said that they couldn’t afford to have both of us be knights.”

Kay scowled. “That’s hogsfard too,” he said.

“No kidding, you guys have all the money you can handle,” said Bedivere. “My parents sit around wondering where all your money comes from.”

“They do?” Kay gaped at him.

“All the time,” Bedivere said. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

Kay shook his head, but Arthur was trying to remain solemn. “They say I will be Kay’s squire,” he said.

Kay grimaced slightly.

“Oh, that’s harsh,” Bedivere said. “That’s a lot to take. And no one knows why?”

“I don’t know,” Kay said with a hint of defensiveness, “do you think you’re cut out to be a knight?”

Arthur shrugged. “Everyone keeps saying no, but I don’t see why not.”

“Well, you’re all into flowers and bugs and nature and all that,” Kay said.

“What about it?” Arthur asked.

“Well, it’s just not very knightly,” Kay said. “Or manly.”

“My parents talk about that too,” Bedivere said.

Arthur’s face grew red and hot. “Well, why shouldn’t I?” he asked. “You can be a knight and… like flowers and bugs.”

“I guess,” Kay replied. “I just don’t know a lot of knights like that. Most knights want to conquer and be brave and,” he shrugged, “stand up to things. And win. You don’t even like to fight.”

“I fight when I have to,” Arthur said.

“As Kay found out,” Bedivere added.

Kay shot him an annoyed glance.

“But I don’t,” Arthur thought, “crave fighting. I don’t sit around wanting to fight.”

“Well,” Kay shrugged, “I think most knights do. You heard Bedivere’s pa and our father talk about how they love to be out in a good battle. It’s where they show themselves, and what they can do.”

“Prowess,” Bedivere said.

“How are you going to prove your prowess looking at plants and bugs?” Kay asked. “Maybe that’s the very reason Mother and Father don’t think you’re suited to knighthood.”

“And what’s wrong with hanging out with people, anyway?” Bedivere asked.

“Yes,” Kay agreed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with me? Or Bedivere?”

Arthur was dumbfounded by the contradiction, but could only get out; “Nothing. I’m with you now.” Then he couldn’t let it pass. “Besides, you haven’t really seemed to want me around.”

Kay looked away, made no response, shrugged. “I guess I just feel better around more,” he thought, “knightly guys. But since you’re to be my squire, I suppose we should get used to each other.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You’ve always said that I’m not like you.”

Kay shrugged. “You’re not.”

“That I’m not like your family.”

His brother grimaced. “You’re not, really.”

Arthur turned his gaze to the ground. He could hear a thrushing sound rising in his ears and his skin grew hot as his thoughts clouded.

“You don’t look like us,” Kay continued. “You don’t act like us.” He cocked his head. “What do you think, Bedivere?”

“You don’t look like them,” the boy said.

Arthur moved over to lean against a broken stump. His eyes were dark and staring downward. “So what do you think?” he asked.

Kay watched him for a moment. “I think you’re from some other parents.”

Arthur wanted to stay cool, but found tears in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Kay said. “You asked. If you don’t want to talk about it anymore….”

Arthur stood upright. “But why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“I guess they thought you’d be upset,” Kay said.

“Which, obviously….” Bedivere gestured to Arthur.

Arthur huffed in frustration. “But they say I’m their… that they’re my mother and father.”

“I don’t know,” Kay said. “I have no idea. I don’t want to upset you.”

Arthur felt wetness on his face as he tried to keep his expression blank. Crying now would only reinforce his weakness.

“I just know that you don’t look, or act, like us.”

“You don’t,” Bedivere concurred. “But it’s not,” he shrugged, looked away, “bad.”

Arthur roughly wiped at his teary face. “All right,” he said. “I’m going home now. Thanks for,” he gestured to the place, “having me out here.” He didn’t look at them again before walking right off on the way home.

Author interview: Scott Telek discusses The Flower of Chivalry

Moving with oddly jerking steps, he held his jaw tight and lips pressed tightly together. The trees and branches began to swim in his vision as he walked. He could feel his emotions coming on fully, like the tearing of a fabric, but he wanted to get away from his brother and Bedivere before they burst forth. Kay would just love to see him sobbing. It occurred to him to move through the woods in an unexpected direction so that if Kay and Bedivere were following behind to get a glimpse of him upset, he would be more likely to remain unfound. He could clearly envision Kay’s smug superiority that he grew so upset, or his brother letting mention of it drop into a future conversation, as further evidence that Arthur was in no way cut out to be a knight.

He was able to hold on until he was about two bow-shots away, his breath coming in increasingly fragile gulps, until he could no longer hold out—if they were following, they would have to see—and he ducked behind a tree and let it out. He doubled over, mouth open, drooling, but making no sound until, with a great intake of breath, a loud gasp escaped from him and echoed through the woods. He whirled quickly to scan the trees behind to see if he could see any trace of them, but there was none. He knew that if his brother could hear him, he would laugh. Turning back forward again, Arthur brought his hands up to cover his wet face and sank down to the ground.

Why wouldn’t they tell him? What was the big secret? It must be something awful. Maybe his real parents were so awful, beneath the possibility of even mentioning. He could imagine that, as Kay said, he was not of knightly issue, but… could it be something even worse? Could he be the offspring of a criminal? A giant? A madman?

The only thing that seemed clear was, he was obviously not one of them, and quite likely something far worse. So bad they wouldn’t say. For several long minutes he just sat, head forward on his crossed arms, remaining stuck within a whirling eddy of anguish in which no real thought was possible, only swirling, confused emotion.

He didn’t know how long that went on. Eventually his tears abated and dried, leaving a tight feeling on his cheeks. He looked up and saw the trunks of the trees sway in the breeze, the wind whooshing as they moved. His feelings were distant and deadened now, and he looked out at the forest with still, grim eyes. The sky had clouded over and the light coming through the canopy was a dull, even illumination. It was getting late in the day.

He didn’t want to go home, but he had nowhere else to go. He wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t stay out in the woods much longer. He felt the pressing agony of complete powerlessness. He leaned back, angling his head up, and left his eyes open as he stared upward, watching the bushy clumps of treetops shift and waver, hearing the creaks of their stretching trunks as they swayed back and forth in the breeze. He sat there another half hour or so.

Then, without a word, he leaned forward, shifted himself until he got to his feet—letting the blood return to the limbs it had been squeezed out of—and began the silent march home.

The forest was filled with the low breath of the wind and the rustling of leaves. It seemed to be building toward a storm. There were a few birds that flitted quickly into a bough or across his path, but his eyes did not follow them. They stared straight ahead. He continued on when he turned along a curve in the path and—there was a man.

He sat on the trunk of a downed tree with his arms straight at his sides, mouth hanging agape, eyes deadened and recessed into their sockets. His head slowly turned toward Arthur as the boy stopped in his tracks. The man wore a dirty tunic that was torn in several places and showed his emaciated chest. He and Arthur exchanged a glance for a moment as a dark, frightened feeling spread like ink through Arthur’s stomach. He waited just a moment before he lowered his eyes and continued walking with a quickened pace. He could feel the man’s eyes following him as he passed, and once he was moving away, he called after the boy.

“Have you got anything to eat?” he asked. His voice was sharp and suffused with a chilling directness.

Arthur stopped and turned. The man’s eyes, underscored by several reddened fleshy sags, stared right at him without focus. “No,” Arthur said. “I’m sorry.” He turned back and walked a few more steps away, then slowed. He turned and pointed. “There’s a big beehive a few bow-shots in that direction,” he said. “Maybe you can get some honey,” he added, then lowered his arm and continued on his way home.

His mother was in the yard, pulling laundry off the line. She smiled when she saw him, and pressed the trousers she was holding against her full belly. “Hello, Arthur. Where have you been?”

He stared at her with an expression of cold, distant enmity. Her face dropped, and he moved by her swiftly, saying nothing. He turned away when he had made it past her and continued walking steadily toward the door of the house.

“Well, what’s the matter with you, then?” she called. Her voice held a trace of pleading, but Arthur didn’t care to look back. He opened the door, moved through the kitchen, and ascended silently to his room.