Return to Camelot by Jeffrey Allen White (the reading strategies book .TXT) 📕

as a summer’s sky. His hair cut to frame his angelic face. The face of an angel, he thought.

“Come closer, boy”, Arthur reached out for him. The boy paused then advanced without fear or reservation. He was brave or at least he appeared so. Arthur touched his face. His features were so gentle and kind. Not unlike the boy, he once was himself so very long ago. “Why are you here? Why have you disturbed my death bed?”

“Forgive me Sire. I only want to help. My father says you were the greatest king in the entire world. I have heard him speak of you many times. I heard of all your battles, triumphs and the stories of the round table and its’ knights. I have trained to be your page, Sire, your servant. I want to pledge myself to you my lord.” With that, the boy knelt and bowed his head in respect, his blond hair tumbling into his face.

Arthur sat in front of the boy and lifted his head with his once mighty hands. He could see all his features clearly now. His eyes, his nose, the rosy cheeks of youth and to his surprise, a single tear had fallen from his eyes. “What is this boy, do I make you ashamed? Do I repulse you so?”

The boy stared at the once noble king. “No Sire, I only want to serve you.” The boy again bowed his head in respect.

Arthur stood before the boy then dropped to his own knees in front of him. “Lift your head my boy, you have nothing to fear.” Arthur realized he must have scared the child with his appearance and manor. He felt disgust for the man he had become. Arthur wiped the boys’ face and brought him to his feet. He looked into his eyes. “You have nothing to fear boy. I am not an ogre, although I must look like one to you. I am just an old feeble man who once was King a long, long time ago.”

“You are the greatest king that has ever reined my Lord!” The boy’s eyes widened with sincerity and awe.

“Your father taught you well. How old are you boy?” Arthur tried to make conversation and calm the lad.

“I am ten, your majesty. My parents, Lady Anne and Sir Dinadan have raised me as their own since I was found abandoned.”

Arthur was amazed of his articulate nature. His voice, so clear and pure. He had once been like this boy. He was so full of wonder and life. Now he was an empty shell. The king, the man, the boy he once was, was no more. “What is your name?”

The boy backed up and straightened his stand. “My name is Tomelac. It was the name given to me by my birth mother.”

“How unusual it is, lad. Nevertheless, a fine proud name it is. Tolemac, why do you want to serve me?” Arthur walked over to the door and shut it. The boy turned and swallowed hard.

“Do you wish me to stay sire? I could help you get dressed. I could polish your boots. I could...” Arthur pressed his finger to the boy’s lips. The taste of unwashed fingers made Tolemac retreat a little.

“Oh, I am sorry lad. The problem with being a hermit is that you forget to wash sometimes.” Arthur looked into a wardrobe mirror. The sight of him even made Arthur grimace with distaste. “Well, a lot of times, I must say. Perhaps I should eat and drink a little.” Arthur sat at the table. Tolemac began to serve him a meal complete with fresh water and fruit. Something Arthur had not seen or eaten in many years it seemed.

Arthur picked up an apple and bit into it. The taste hurt his mouth as well as aroused his senses. How long had it been since he tasted this treat? “Your father...how is he?” Arthur took a sip of water.

“My father is dead sire, and my mother also. They have been dead for almost a year now. They were victims of the black plague. I had already entered into the apprenticeship of pages just before they died.” Tolemac’s eyes now again filled with tears but not of fear but of sorrow. Arthur realized that this boy was alone now as he was. No one to love or be loved by. His heart that had been broken for these last ten years was now breaking again.

Tolemac cleared the platter that by now Arthur had consumed as well as the ewer of fresh water. He walked to the other side of the table. “Will that be all, Sire?”

“Yes, that was a fine feast. Thank you, lad. Now go and leave me to rest. I have spent far too much time away from my death bed.”

“Sire, you are not dying.” The boy said quickly.

“What? Do you argue the point with the king? Do you not see the disintegration of what was once a man before your very own eyes?” Arthur was truly surprised at this boy.

Tolemac went to the door. “I am sorry, your majesty. I have always believed you to be just resting...for your return to the thrown.”

Arthur was very surprised with this last statement, my return to the throne after all these years. And how do you know I intend to return to the thrown?”

“My father had always said you would return as soon as you have rested. He said you were weary from your battles and that your strength would return and you would regain your thrown.” The boy backed his way to the door, fearing he had said too much already.

“And what else did he say...?” The boy stood mute. “What else did your father say? Answer me boy!”

Tolemac took a deep breath and started to speak. “My father said you would return again in ten years time. He said that you would know when that time was. You would have a sign from Merlin, the sorcerer. He dreamed of this many times.”

“Dreamed of this? Signs from Merlin?” Arthur was now intrigued beyond his own thoughts. He had spoken of Merlin, his friend, his teacher. Could he have knowledge of Merlin? “What sign, tell me!”

Tolemac looked into the king’s eyes. “He said you would see your own reflection and then return to the thrown and bring Camelot back to its’ rightful place.” He then turned and backed out the door bowing his head. The door closed behind him, leaving Arthur to stare into the darkness again.

“What does he mean? My own reflection?” Arthur went back to the mirror. Arthur looked at himself again after wiping away cobwebs and dirt. He could see himself now, as he truly was, an old man, his face now weathered and lined. It would not be with lines of wisdom but that of despair and torment.

Arthur looked again for a while, searching out each new line, examining each wrinkle. His beard, peppered with an assortment of gray and white was also long and disheveled. He once had hair of deep chestnut. Now streaked with patches of white and gray. His features were distorted and drawn and the only thing, which he could recognize, was his eyes. His eyes were still the blue of a summer’s day.


Chapter 2

It had been several days since his first meeting with Tolemac and Arthur had started to look forward to his daily visits. Although they were still getting to know each other, he was able to feel comfortable with the boy.

Tolemac had cleared most of the room the day before and even opened the windows that sealed shut years before. He aired out the king’s refuge of the last ten years. He had swept up so much dust and dirt you could now see the floor and the hint of color of the carpets that Arthur once had artisans make for his beloved queen.

Arthur had even taken a bath last night. He felt pounds lighter and this morning he even attempted to trim his beard with an old pair of rusty shears. He looked at himself in the mirror. “Still, an old fool.” He said to himself.

Why had he taken on this challenge of bathing and cleaning? Why had he gone to so much trouble and bother? There was not anyone he wanted to impress. He did not want to see anyone in particular. Well, that was not the absolute truth. Arthur had indeed been waiting for someone. It was Tolemac. He had grown accustomed, no actually; he had grown almost fond of the boy. His daily visits would make his day more bearable. He had even eaten more than he had in months. Tolemac had seen to that. He was sleeping better than he could remember when.

Arthur looked around his room. His clothes had all been picked up and either cleaned or put away. The tables and chairs were uncluttered. The bedclothes were changed and his room that had been so dark and disorderly was now light and organized.

Tolemac had gotten the guards to move the king’s bed and reposition it in the center of the room instead of the dark corner where Arthur had moved it years before. The windows washed and reset so that there were no more drafts. The hearth that held mountains of ashes from countless fires were washed and the old ashes carted away.

Arthur picked up a book that was on the table. He examined it. It was an old book of stories. “Perhaps Tolemac would enjoy this book. He has worked so hard. He should not neglect his studies.” The book was old and worn. Arthur had read it many times since he was a boy. It was a favorite. There were stories of heroes and gods and quests for justice. Arthur paged through the book. There was an etching printed of a young lad fighting against a fierce and powerful dragon. He thought of his dragon. Tis’ was the one who came to him so many times in his sleep.

The door opened. Arthur put down the book and turned around expecting to see Tolemac. The door closed and his eyes fixed on a figure that was too tall to be that of the boy.

“Who enters my room?” He asked. The figure was dressed in black and it was hard for Arthur to make out whom it was. “I asked you, who are you?” Again, silence. Arthur walked over to the table and picked up his cloak.

“You have entered the private chambers of the king. Speak now or prepare to be discharged with force.” The figure moved slowly, almost floating along the wall and