Children of the Knight - Michael J. Bowler (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📗

signs of the splinters that had cracked open his original Camelot. Of course, that Camelot had endured for decades before it fell, and this one was only in its infancy. Still, the signs were positive.

Oh, Merlin, he wondered, if only you could be here to see what you have wrought, forsooth it has to have been put in place by you!

He’d decided some time back that only Merlin could be the explanation for his being here in this era with all the tools necessary for this campaign. Which often caused his mind to wonder why Merlin himself hadn’t appeared in the flesh.

Are you out there, old friend, watching and waiting? Testing me again?

Lance approached Arthur and bowed before speaking. “Arthur, before we begin our discussion time, can I ask you a question that’s been bugging me?”

“You may ask anything, Lance.”

“A couple of times I heard you say the name ‘Lancelot’, which sort of sounds like my name. Who was he?”

“Lancelot was my best friend, and my most skilled knight. Like you, he was good and pure and indispensable to me. Your name is, I be certain, no coincidence.”

“What happened to him?”

Arthur’s eyes took on a faraway expression as he thought back to those long ago, painful times. “You may recall, Lance, when I spoke of my son attempting to overthrow me, I mentioned my best friend.”

Lance’s eyes bulged with shock. “He’s the one who hooked up with your wife?”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s choice of words.

What a world this is, he mused. Then he nodded. “Yes, they fell in love, my Gwen and Lance, and it was their love—an act of treason under my own laws—that brought Camelot to its knees.”

“Did you love her?”

“I loved them both. That is what made it all so tragic.”

“Well don’t worry, Arthur, I’ll never betray you like they did!”

Arthur smiled and placed a hand on Lance’s broadening shoulder. The boy’s soft, eager face gazed up at him so earnestly that Arthur’s own heart lodged in his throat.

How I love this boy!

Should he say it, or might the others be jealous if he showed such favoritism? He hesitated, and the window of opportunity slipped away like the final traces of sunlight dissolving into night.

“Of that I be certain, Lance” was all he said instead.

The boy grinned, and Arthur stepped back from him, calling the assembly to order. He stood before his throne, Lance at his side, before an enormous ocean of children. They spilled out into every tunnel. The little ones sat atop the shoulders of the big ones. More girls had joined and were huddled around Reyna. Esteban and Darnell and Duc and Tai and many, many more of their homeboys were present.

It was time, Arthur knew, to move his crusade forward, time to embark upon their first quest—the quest to win the hearts of the people. He raised Excalibur high above his head for all to see. Lantern light bounced off its gleaming surface in rainbow-like waves. Mark gazed in wonder at Arthur, while Jack’s eyes drifted to Lance.

“In these past weeks, you have all made great strides in the ways of knighthood.” Arthur’s voice boomed through the tunnels for all to hear.

Lance looked up, eagerness plastered to his young face. “Does this mean…?”

Arthur nodded before turning to the crowd. “I have not knighted anyone for centuries. It hath been far too long!” He grinned at the sea of expectant faces, and the crowd erupted into clapping and stomping and hooting.

Arthur raised Excalibur over their heads to signal quiet. “Tonight,” he announced boldly. “It shall be tonight.”

The Griffith Park Boys Camp had never hosted a gathering quite like this one. Unlike Arthur’s previous excursion to this venue, tonight no one present came for the purpose of violence or mayhem. Small lanterns sat on tables illuminating the trees and cabins with their dancing light. Other lanterns had been hung from scattered tree branches, casting yellowish glowing pools of light upon the proceedings.

Arthur stood regally atop the platform holding Excalibur before him, decked out in his finest tunic and pants, his hauberk and crown, his hair smooth and brushed, his beard trimmed and clean.

Lance stood before the platform, his own silky hair trailing past his shoulders, a band of shimmering gold encircling his head, his tunic and pants spotless, his striking green eyes gazing at Arthur with wonder. A sword—Lance’s favorite sword, the one with which he’d bested Esteban—stuck out of a groove in the platform before Arthur, its hilt glimmering in the lantern light.

Behind Lance stood Mark, Jack, Lavern, Esteban, Darnell, Enrique, Reyna, Luis, Chris, Jaime, Tai, Duc, Sylvia and all the hundreds of children who had taken a leap of faith and joined the crusade, each of them with a chosen sword in hand, the line snaking around and back and through the park.

Arthur still did not know the actual number in attendance, but Lance suspected upward of five hundred, a daunting figure. In addition to the unusual act of knighting children, for the first time as king he would grant knighthood to females.

Oh, Merlin, he cast a thought to the wind, ye wouldst be so proud of me. The moon cast its own glow upon the eager young faces awaiting their individual moment of triumph.

Arthur looked down at Lance, and his heart swelled with pride.

Ah, my son, he thought, but did not say this. Rather, he waved a hand in front of him. Lance stepped onto the platform and knelt before his sword, before his king.

“Speak the oath, squire,” Arthur commanded, his voice carrying on the breeze.

Lance looked at Arthur solemnly and then bowed his head and placed both hands on the hilt of his sword. “I thank thee, Heavenly Father, for permitting unto me the use of this sword to repress the wicked and defend the downtrodden. You, who in thy infinite wisdom created the order of chivalry, and who planted goodness within my heart, hereby charge thy humble servant before thee to never strike anyone unjustly, but to use this sword only to protect. Grant me, Lord, the strength to be for now and all time, a warrior, not for might, but for right.”

Arthur grinned at Lance. He couldn’t help it. And neither could Lance, who raised his eyes and grinned back. Arthur lifted Excalibur and gently touched its tip first to Lance’s left shoulder and then to his right. “I hereby dub thee Sir Lance, Knight of the Table Round.”

Lance’s entire body shook, and his grin broadened, lighting up his face with pure happiness. As Arthur withdrew Excalibur, Lance leaned forward and kissed the hilt of his own sword before taking it in his grasp and standing.

The newly minted knight turned and held the sword aloft for all to see. The line of expectant children broke into wild applause. Lance turned back to Arthur and bowed. Raising his head, boy and king exchanged a private look.

That look bothered Mark, who was next in line. He, too, was ecstatic at this moment, but he deeply wished Arthur would look at him the way he looked at Lance. Jealousy crept into his heart, but he forced it down.

Not tonight, he told himself.

He knelt before Arthur, who smiled so warmly down at him that Mark forgot his ill will. He stuck his own sword hilt-up within the platform’s groove and glanced over at Lance, who tossed him a grin and a wink. Mark grinned and felt guilty for his jealousy, shoving it back down into the darkest reaches of his soul. Lance was his friend, after all, and a good friend, at that.

Arthur and Mark locked eyes a moment, and Mark couldn’t help but smile.

“Speak the oath, squire.”

And Mark did exactly that.

And so the process repeated itself. Over and over and over again, late into the night.

Thus passed a long, but fulfilling, experience, as each and every child stepped forward to swear the oath, and join the Table. For those cast off and unwanted kids, for those ex-gang members who sought a better life, for those abused and beaten and berated by their families, this was a night like no other, a night where they finally felt special, needed, and important. This night, every one of them knew in their hearts, would change their lives forever.

Jenny sat on the front stoop of her apartment building, gazing at the moon hanging listlessly in the sky and fiddling with a crystal dangling from a chain around her neck. Her thoughts swirled around Arthur and what he might be up to. Okay, she told herself, he obviously can’t be the real King Arthur. But, he might actually believe he is. If that were the case, according to the legend, Arthur would return when Britain needed him most. Except this wasn’t Britain. Okay, the guy’s a nut and poor on geography. Fine. What would Arthur likely do if in fact he really did return?

A new Round Table. That’s what he’d said at the park. The original Camelot had crumbled due to in-fighting and human selfishness. But now, it seemed, he wanted to start a new Camelot, and his new knights would be…. Oh God! Lance! And the children! Why didn’t she see it before? No wonder he wanted Lance—the name wasn’t a coincidence. But then what? He’s building an army. To do what? That was the piece of the puzzle that eluded her.

Should she contact the police? Those detectives handling the case had put their contact info in the paper. Should she call, at least tell them her suspicions, alert them about Lance? Except they couldn’t find Lance any more than she could. The address MTS had on file for him had been bogus and his social worker had no new information.

Oh, what to do? At times like this she so wished her father were still alive. Her mother had died when Jenny was four and her father had raised her alone. He’d been the most caring, sensible man she’d ever known and always had sound advice to pass on whenever she was troubled.

Oh, Dad, what should I do?

You don’t have a choice, Jenny, she finally told herself with a heavy sigh of frustration, but to wait for Arthur’s next move.

Yeah, and I’ll be ready when you do, she affirmed in her heart.

Lance would come to no harm if she had anything to say about it.

It was the afternoon following the knighting ceremony, and the excitement level amongst the throng within The Hub was palpable. They filled the chamber and tunnels with exuberant chatter, brimming with energy. Arthur stood near the throne. At his side, Lance wore a bright green tunic and gripped his sword in its scabbard as though daring anyone to take it away.

Lance observed the energy before him. Even Esteban and Jaime and Darnell seemed almost childlike in their new chain-mail shirts, waving their swords around with giddy joy. Reyna and her posse of girls looked especially striking in their new tunics, waving their swords and bows at each other with the excitement of small children.

Arthur smiled at Mark, who beamed brightly and held up his sword in a salute. Jack, as always, hovered near Mark like a moth to a light bulb, but Mark’s eyes remained fixed on Arthur as though Jack was non-existent.

Lance noted this with an odd feeling in his stomach, especially when Jack’s penetrating gaze fell on him. Finally, Arthur draped one arm across Lance’s shoulders.

“See them, Sir Lance,” he said with a