Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) (17 page)

             
Bedivere laughed. “He drinks often. I doubt it had anything to do with it.” He looked at me teasingly, and I blushed again but quickly reprimanded myself for thinking it meant something that I know it didn’t.

“I did not know her,” he continued, taking mercy on my embarrassment, “but I suppose it could have been ….” He shrugged his shoulders still thinking, as he placed the rope on a nail hammered through one of the posts.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as long as I have known Bran he has always been scheming of ways to start trouble.” He scratched the back of his head, focusing on a small spot in the grass as he smiled slightly. “He is
very
strong willed and does not listen so well.” He lifted his gaze and reached for a pitchfork resting against a post. “I know his behaviors certainly infuriated his father; that is the reason Merlin brought him to Tewdrig’s, so it would not be unlikely if his mother thought poorly of him as well.” He stabbed at the large hay stack, shoveling it into the wooden troughs. I blushed inwardly thinking of kissing Brendelon on that very same hay pile.

             
“That seems rather awful,” I said softly, thinking on Brendelon’s story, commiserating with his sad childhood.

He continued to shovel the hay not saying a word for a moment then he st
ood straight and wiped his brow. “The Lord has a way of working things out.” He placed the pitchfork back against the post and hoisted himself up to sit on top of the fence as he leaned over his knees, pondering for a moment. I was quickly learning that Bedivere was a thinker, and very unlike Gawain and Brendelon, he was careful to choose his words. He squinted in the sunlight.

“If he had not been sent away, he may not have developed such a close relationship with Arthur.” He glanc
ed down at me with dancing eyes. “You know, when we first met him he was very guarded, so much in fact that he hardly spoke, if you could believe it,” he chuckled. “He would scowl at anyone who tried to speak to him, but Arthur would not let up and finally after a few days of boredom—and Arthur’s persistence—he finally pipes up with this great idea to take Ector’s young dog hunting. He claimed all dogs have instincts to fetch kills, so it mattered not that he had no training. We believed him because he can be very persuasive when he wants to be, but also because even we thought the idea sounded fun.”

I leaned up against the fence, intrigued with the story and entertained at the way Bedivere’s face lit up at the memories. 

“So Artos aimed up high,” he pretended to shoot a bow, “and hit a bird first try. Bran let the dog off the rope, but the damned dog ran off in the wrong direction.” He pointed his arm to the far distance as he shook his head. “We spent all day searching for that mutt, but he was nowhere to be found. Bran tried to hide it but we could tell he was terrified, thinking he would get a whipping. Artos tried to tell him that Ector would not lay a hand upon him but by the end of the conversation, Bran even had us convinced that we all would surely get a beating for this.” He paused a moment as he scratched his cheek still looking amused at his story, but I felt my stomach twist at Brendelon’s fear, remembering the things he said of his father, thinking of the awfulness of it. 

             
“Ector saw us and asked if we had seen the dog,” he continued, “so Bran stood tall, hard faced,” he stood straight with his chin thrust out, imitating what Brendelon would have looked like, “prepared for a whipping, but right before he opened his mouth, Artos stepped in, saying
he
is responsible for losing the dog.” He laughed a little. “Bran’s mouth fell open, and Artos whispered, ‘we stand together.’ You should have seen his face; it was like he had never had anyone defend him before.”

             
I shook my head as sadness consumed me, picturing a terrified green eyed boy realizing for the first time someone cared about him. It was no wonder he had such reservations about home and love, and I started to understand why Arthur had such a big place in his heart.

“They ended up arguing over who was responsible,” Bedivere continued
, not noticing my expression. “Ector was so confused he just threw his hands up done with it. Nobody was even punished.” He laughed again. “And would you not know, after all that, the damned dog came back the next morning.” He shook his head, still laughing. “And Bran has been loyal to Artos ever since.”

             
I forced a smile. “And that’s why he loves Arthur so much?” 

             
He smiled, nodding his head. “Artos is easy to love. It is the ones who are not who really teach you about the heart.” His words puzzled me.

“
What do you—” But before I could ask more he jumped off the fence.

“Have you ever hunted with a bow?” he interrupted.

“I’ve never hunted at all.”

He grinned. “Here, let me show you.” I followed him as he walked into the stable, not wanting to change the subject so soon.

“Did Brendelon ever go back to live with his mother?” I asked, trying to pry a little further.

He scratched his chin as he pulled down a bow that was hanging on a nail from one of the stable walls. “No, I think he only saw her once since she sent him away.” He grimaced as he tested out the pull of the string. “She came to see him at the Christ Mass when Arthur pulled Excalibur. It sent her into a terrible rage; she felt Bran to be the legitimate heir, but he would not hear of it.” He grabbed two arrows, touching his finger lightly to the tips, testing their sharpness.

“Wouldn’t he still be heir to his father’s throne?”

“His uncle, Ulrich, has taken over,” he said as he walked out of the stables. “He could certainly reclaim it, but I do not think he wants it; that would require too much responsibility,” he said with a slight chuckle. “You see, Bran is unruly and prefers no restrictions, much like the raging sea…” He turned and looked at me almost with a warning. “He is fierce, unpredictable, and
impossible
to control.”

I nodded.
He was like the sea alright, and I was a small insignificant vessel that witnessed the calm and was now caught in his storm. “I like that Brendelon doesn’t just conform to what others want or expect from him,” I blurted out. “That takes courage in a lot of ways.” And as I said it, I realized maybe that was part of his allure. It was a trait that I wished I could possess. I crossed my arms over the fence post.

Bedivere nodded
his head still deep in thought. “He is certainly courageous,” he agreed. “But kings need to be constant like the land, steadfast and reliable, the way Arthur is.”

“Is that why Merlin chose Arthur to be the High King?”

He looked at me funny. “Merlin did not choose him. He is the heir; it was always meant to be him.” His gaze went up to the sky, as he watched a hawk glide above us, and I wondered for a moment if he meant to shoot it. “Here,” he said, thrusting the bow into my hands, suddenly distracting me. “Is your right hand or left hand stronger?”

             
“My right…” I started, as he placed my left hand onto the hard wooden part of the bow.

“Hold it here,” he said, adjusting my hand. 

              “I—I’m not sure I should do this,” I stuttered, feeling nervous about my lack of abilities.

             
“You will be fine.” He laughed, as he grabbed me by the shoulders, turning me sideways until my left shoulder pointed at the tree in the distance. “Move your feet apart.” He gently kicked the inner part of my feet until I moved them about shoulder width in distance. “Keep your body relaxed.” He spoke in a calming voice and smiled cordially, making me feel less unsure about myself. He placed the arrow into my right hand and set the top part of the shaft against a small vertical notch on the wood, keeping it sturdy. He then placed the back of the arrow against the string, pointing a single feather away from the bow. “Now, hold it lightly with three fingers, these two below,” he wiggled his middle and ring finger at me, “and this one above,” he showed me his index finger. “Keep the arrow pointed to the ground and when you are ready lift it up as you pull back.” He showed me the movement as he carefully raised my arms into a t-shape. “Pull your right hand back as far as you can to your ear, keeping your body straight. Aim at the tree, hold your breath to steady… and release.” He let go of my hands and took a step back smiling at me.

             
“But what if I miss?” I asked, releasing the tension on the string as I lowered the bow back to the ground, despite the fact I was suddenly itching to shoot it.

             
He laughed again, holding his hands up in mock defense. “I will not tell a soul,” he joked, winking at me. I smiled, I really did appreciate Bedivere’s kindness; he made me feel like less of an outsider. I took a deep breath and lifted the bow in a fluid motion like he had shown me, carefully pulling the arrow back towards my ear as I aimed at the trunk of the tree. I held my breath and released the arrow from my slender fingers. It sailed gracefully through the air before penetrating the trunk of the tree. I squealed in delight. The arrow hit a lot lower than I had aimed for, but I couldn’t believe I had actually hit the tree. He turned to me with wide eyes and a smile playing at his lips.

             
“Can I try it again?” I asked excitedly. He laughed and handed me the second arrow, as I set it up again.

“
Tilt it higher up,” he directed. “The further your distance the higher you are to aim.”

I listened to him and
moved the bow upwards and released. This time I hit the tree a little bit more to the left than I had anticipated, but I didn’t care. It was exhilarating.

             
“You have natural bow skills,” he complimented, as his affable brown eyes twinkled.

             
“Thank you,” I said, still grinning as I handed the bow back. “That was fun.”

             
“You can train your little dog to fetch your kills when he is all healed,” he said playfully.

             
“I don’t know about that.” I laughed. “We don’t really hunt where I am from.”

             
His eyes widened. “Nobody hunts?”

             
“Well, the animals are on farms, and they don’t really run wild anymore.” He gave me an odd look that matched the ones Brendelon had given me when I explained future advances to him. The look made me miss him. “Besides, I don’t think I could ever kill an animal.”

He smiled,
flashing nice straight teeth. “Do you not eat meat?”

I blushed
again. “I eat meat, but I just don’t want to be the one doing the killing.”

“Th
at is an emotion shared by many.” He laughed, placing the bow over the raised post on the fence, and crawled between the horizontal planks into the pen. He reached for a brush. “So how is your little mutt doing?” he asked, as he started to brush a dark brown horse.

             
“He’s okay. It’s difficult to keep him still; he keeps trying to walk around.” He tossed another brush to me and gave me an approving smirk as I caught it with ease. I crawled between the wood planks the same as he had.

             
“Animals will do that; it is in their nature to move forward.” He nodded, as the teasing smile returned to his lips.

             
“What?” I asked, smiling as I helped him brush the beautiful creature, and curious about the jovial expression on his face.

             
He shook his head. “It is just hard to believe you actually convinced Bran to save that mutt’s life.” He let out a laugh.

             
I laughed too. “In his defense, I didn’t give him much of a choice.”

             
He lifted an eyebrow, looking at me over the horse’s back, “Believe me that has
never
stopped him before,” he pointed out, eyes dancing with hilarity. 

             
“Bedivere!” a strong voice called out, just as my cheeks were beginning to burn.

             
We both whirled our heads into the direction of the voice. There stood an older man with white hair pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck and a white beard that hung a few inches off his chin. He was tall, dressed in a long green cloak over black clothes, and moved with grace as he strutted closer to us.

             
“Hail Merlin!” Bedivere called joyously, crawling out of the pen to meet him. “I was wondering when you would return!”

             
Merlin
. I had almost expected to see him with long white hair to the waist and a beard to the floor, dressed in a shiny blue robe with a long pointy hat. But he looked like a normal older man.

             
He handed the reins over to Bedivere, as his kind light blue eyes focused on me. He smiled. “Katarina, I presume.”

             
“Yes. Nice to meet you.” I smiled at him, wondering how he already knew who I was; had everyone’s gossip even reached him?

             
“Let us find the others,” he said gesturing towards the castle. “We will meet in the hall. There is clearly much to discuss.”