The Poison Rose: A King Arthur Tale Read online

  The Poison Rose

  By Matthew Argyle

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Unsettling Beginnings

  Chapter 2: The Funeral Ceremony

  Chapter 3: The Knights of the Round Table

  Chapter 4: The King’s Retreat

  Chapter 5: Merlin’s Counsel

  Chapter 6: The Poison Rose

  Chapter 7: The Fateful Evening at the Poison Rose Palace

  Chapter 8: Back in Camelot

  Chapter 9: Arthur’s Retreat

  Chapter 10: The Return to the Poison Rose Palace

  Chapter 11: The Witch’s Revenge

  Chapter 12: The Devil’s Wasteland

  Chapter 13: The Witch Enters Camelot

  Chapter 14: Arthur Escapes the Pit

  Chapter 15: The Broken Covenant

  Chapter 16: The Secret Council

  Chapter 17: The Return to Camelot

  Chapter 18: The Final Council

  Chapter 19: The Witch Prepares for Battle

  Chapter 20: The Battle of Badon Fields

  Epilogue: A New Journey

  Prologue

  Within the bounds of the kingdom of King Arthur there lived a beautiful woman. She was everything any man ever wanted. She had long brown hair with shimmering eyes that glowed in the moonlight. Her smile was radiant and her figure flawless in every conceivable way in that it was appealing to both the mind and spirit.

  This woman lived in a magnificent palace on the highest peak of the highest mountain overlooking the entire land. Surrounding her palace was, what appeared to be, a rocky, snowy, lifeless land. This land seemed nothing more than a steep incline covered with snow all year round and extended for many miles before reaching the woman’s palace in the sky. Around this snowy land, many miles down, there was a thick, green forest where animals and many types of creatures found life. Then, even farther down the mountain, past the forest, were the plains where the common folk lived. From these plains the humble residents of Arthur’s kingdom looked up at, what appeared to be, a small, bright white dot on the mountaintop. In fact, some supposed that it was some type of star; others, knowing that it was impossible for a star to be so close to them, supposed the dot to be an optical illusion. Still others reasoned that it was much more, that it was, in fact, a dwelling place for some mythical god.

  Many men became suspicious and curious of this palace in the sky and some ventured to reach it. Most who journeyed up to the palace did not return. Many supposed that they simply died because of the length and difficulty of the journey. However, the select few who did return from that terrifying trek all verified the fact that the dot in the sky was, in fact, a shimmering palace. Eventually rumor spread around the neighboring towns that this palace belonged to a beautiful woman—a woman that they claimed, without hesitation, was more beautiful than any that ever walked the earth.

  Words alone could not describe the beauty of the woman. Any effort to describe the woman proved fruitless. Eventually, after an extensive debate, all who had seen her admitted that the beauty of this woman could only be truly understood by actually seeing her. The idea of seeing a woman more beautiful than any who had ever existed struck a chord in most men’s hearts. The men of the kingdom had all seen beautiful women in their lives and enjoyed every minute of it, but the thought of a woman having godlike beauty, far surpassing any they had yet beheld, was an undeniably luring and enticing object.

  Later more men, from many walks of life, began collaborating and organizing each other into groups that would trek through the thick, dark forest and up the snowy mountain in order to reach the woman’s palace. Some succeeded in reaching her palace while some perished along the way. The ones who did reach her palace did behold her beauty, and without any hesitation declared that her beauty was indeed beyond comparison. However, as the woman in the palace must have supposed, what began merely as a quest to behold her beauty transformed into a quest to win her heart—to win her love and live with her in this magnificent palace in the sky. But it was this desire that proved fatal.

  More and more men throughout Arthur’s kingdom, from all stations of life, ventured away from their homes towards this woman’s palace in hope of winning the woman’s heart. Each one began the journey with an insatiable desire to win the heart of the most beautiful woman in the land, but each and every one failed. Some would return from their journey to report back to their townsman while others still would not return. Again most presumed that these wanderers simply died on their journey. Still others supposed that the woman had killed them, or they killed themselves out of shame that they could not win the heart of this, the most fine, of all women.

  All the men who did happen to return from her never were the same. Some of these men returned with sunken shoulders and rarely spoke, and when they did speak it was only to mutter something like, “The Witch!” or “Clever Devil!” Many people tried to speak comforting words to these once great men, but it was no use. They had been defeated where it mattered most—in their heart and soul. Interestingly enough, these once noble and esteemed men of Arthur’s kingdom had not been defeated by dragons or by the sword, as would have been supposed. Instead they were defeated by a woman. Many of these men eventually abandoned their family and faded away into the darkness of the trees, never to be involved in public affairs again. Still other men returned, but didn’t speak to anyone at all. These people simply became known as “wraiths”—dark and mysterious, but yet apparently harmless victims of the witch’s wrath.

  Although the failed examples of these travelers should have discouraged other men from making the trek to the woman’s palace, it actually led to more and more men departing their families, land, and responsibilities to seek this woman in the sky. Perhaps it was the enticement of having a beautiful woman. Perhaps it was the opportunity to do something that no man had ever done. Perhaps it was simply a challenge men naturally and intuitively crave—to win the heart of the most wanted and beautiful woman in the land.

  No matter the reason, before attempting to climb the mountain, some would say, “I will win the heart of this great princess!” Others would declare, “I go up to the mountain to win the ultimate prize!” Still others would say nothing at all, but leave in the dead of night, as if they were ashamed by their hidden passion.

  Thus these men would, at the remorse of their own wives, leave their family and venture on this journey to achieve what they felt would be the greatest prize—to get the most beautiful woman in the world to fall in love with them. As trivial and blatantly overused as this statement might be, more and more men began to believe that it was possible. They began to believe that this woman who lived at the top of the highest mountain of Arthur’s kingdom was alone and desperate, just waiting for her prince to come up to the top of the mountain and rescue her by winning her heart.

  Still more and more men began to disappear. Scouts from all the provinces were sent out in a hope to reclaim these lost souls, but it was to no avail. The scouts searched the forests surrounding the woman’s mountain, but were astonished to see few dead bodies. They presumed that most of the men must have made it into the woman’s palace and that she, by some unknown power, had killed them or that these men may have actually won over the woman and wanted to stay with her. Or they thought perhaps the woman had imprisoned them. Either way the scouts feared going up to the palace.

  When the scouts returned from their travels they informed Arthur that to the north-east of his kingdom was a mystical and mysterious woman who lived on the highest peak of the highest mountain and that this woman was, in fact, luring men of the kingdom away into mysterious and forbidden paths. Arthur, wi
th his wife terribly ill, did not leave the castle, but heard and responded to the message of the scouts by sending eleven of his best warriors, his knights, on horseback to find this woman and bring her back to face judgment, while only Mordred, the last knight, remained in Camelot to comfort Arthur in this time of trial.

  So eleven of the knights of Arthur’s Round Table, led by Sir Lancelot, left the city of Camelot in search of this woman. But when they approached the mountain they found that the surrounding forest had changed. The once bright forest had now darkened tremendously. The forest felt thick, mysterious, and dangerous. Even the animals of the land had changed. They had become fierce and vicious. The deer did not graze on grass. The squirrels did not writhe around trees or in holes in the ground. Instead, these animals had become fierce, violent killers, and as the knights trailed through the forest they were forced to watch the rampant, bloody scene.

  After moving through the forest, the knights suddenly found themselves looking up at a tall white gate with a wall on both sides of the gate that seemed to move on forever, preventing them from moving into what they thought was the snowy land beyond.

  After arriving at the gate Lancelot ordered two of his knights, Sir Gawain and Sir Galahad, to go on horseback and see how far the wall continued, but it was of no use. The wall extended around the snowy mountain in a ring and was so tall, at least fifty feet, and so smooth, being without any noticeable defect or fault of construction, that none of the knights could climb it. Instead of going around the entire mountain, Gawain and Galahad returned quickly, reporting to Lancelot that the wall itself seemed to have no end in sight.

  Fearing they had reached an impossible obstacle the knights leapt up off their horses and examined a small inscription written elegantly, as if by hand, into the magical gate. The knights, in great surprise, watched as the writing seemed to come alive when they read it—turning a vibrant dark red color. Lancelot read the words aloud, “Property of the Poison Rose.”

  “Who is the Poison Rose?” asked Galahad, in a gruff voice. There was no answer, just a long moment of silence. Nobody clearly knew exactly who this “Poison Rose” was (if it even was a person), but they all thought immediately of the woman in the mountain—a mountain now completely blocked off from the outside world.

  Upset and slightly disturbed, Lancelot ordered the men to get back onto their horses. Then, approaching the gate cautiously, he knocked while shouting and raising his sword. “Open the gate by command of King Arthur, king of this land!” Lancelot backed away from the gate and the knights waited several seconds for a response. But there was no response, nor would there be. Instead, it seemed as if the knight’s horses sensed something evil at work. After a few moments they began stumbling around on the ground, moving frantically back and forth, and leaping up off their front feet.

  “What is it?” exclaimed Gawain. “What’s wrong with the horses?”

  There was a moment of silence. Lancelot looked back with fear into the forest from which they had just emerged. He felt a terrifying dark presence emerge from the dark forest as a dark foggy mist crept along the ground towards the wall.

  “Let us not stay here longer than is needful!” said Lancelot. “This is a place of devils!” Lancelot ordered the knights to depart and return to report to Arthur. But as the knights were leaving Lancelot thought he heard a voice. It was not a loud voice, nor a soft voice, but a powerful and soothing voice—the voice of a woman. It penetrated deep into his heart and filled his soul with a powerful, eerie sense of uneasiness. The voice did not speak long; in reality it spoke for only a matter of a few moments. However, what Lancelot heard in those moments seemed to last an eternity, as if the voice was written on his heart so he could not forget it—“Come alone and win my heart. That is the only way.”

  When the voice ceased Lancelot suddenly turned to lead his men back through the dark forest. After leaving the forest that evening the other knights cheered. But Lancelot did not cheer because he knew that this day was not a day of victory, but of defeat. The noble knight looked back and then reluctantly turned towards the setting sun. He knew that, for now, the Poison Rose had defeated them.

  Chapter 1: Unsettling Beginnings

  The kingdom ruled by Arthur was a glorious kingdom. It was composed of twelve provinces, over each of whom was a Lord. Each of these Lords were noble and virtuous and, indeed, a Knight of Arthur’s Round Table. Each and every Lord had been selected by the king to rule as much for their ability to fight with the sword as for their honor and integrity. It was by this system of government that Arthur ruled his kingdom in peace and prosperity for twenty long years.

  In the western part of his kingdom was the famed city of Camelot, where Arthur lived with his wife Guinevere and his only daughter Alice. As the greatest city in the land, people came from all over to see it. Many wanted to walk along its streets and breathe in its crisp air. Many wanted to see the next new cultural event or participate in the local games. Still some wanted to visit the market or associate with old friends. While all people in Arthur’s kingdom came to Camelot for different reasons, all had one reason in common—to be able to step inside the king’s castle.

  Indeed, nothing could be greater than the castle where Arthur lived. Set up on the highest point in the very center of Camelot it was beacon for everyone in the kingdom. The stone monument had been built long ago, and was made of the finest stone. It stood as the mansion for kings of all types—great and old, young and foolish, trustworthy and fearful. But this was not just any castle—it was Arthur’s castle. After entering through its massive wooden front doors there was a hallway filled with light that poured down through the high and tall windows. The hallway was long and at the end was a short stairway, a stairway that led up to the throne of the King and Queen, where they frequently sat to make judgment.

  Apart from the many separate bedrooms in the castle and the great hall itself there was one central council room on the second floor that contained the Round Table—the meeting-place for all of Arthur’s knights. Beyond this room stairs led up to the king’s tower from which he could stand and overlook his entire kingdom. Then, surrounding the king’s tower were twelve other, smaller and shorter towers that represented each one of the provinces of his kingdom. Within this castle’s walls people came from all over to pay tribute and receive counsel from their great king—a king whose wife now lay on the verge of death.

  Queen Guinevere, Arthur’s wife, had been married to the king for fifteen years and it would not be a lie to say that they loved and adored each other every moment they were together. While Guinevere began to feel the pains and woes of illness Arthur’s kingdom also began to feel her pain. Arthur didn’t spend time helping his people, but for the three long months that she lay in her bed dying, he hardly spent a minute away from her side, kneeling and praying that she would get better and offering humbling words of consolation. Arthur’s hope, however, was gradually fading away.

  The thirty-five-year-old king was dressed in dark green with a brown belt wrapped around his body. He had short black hair and dark brown eyes and was no taller or shorter than six feet. There, next to Guinevere’s bed on the west side of the castle, Arthur knelt. He sat there for several moments, merely taking joy in being next to her and watching her eyes flutter open.

  Guinevere possessed smooth and shiny blonde hair with beautiful white skin and a figure that looked more like a goddess than a person. She was ordinarily very animated in walking around the castle, but her vibrant personality had now all but disappeared. The light that streamed through her bedroom window was the only thing that still made her feel like her old self.

  Next to the kneeling king stood Mordred. Mordred was older than Arthur by more than a decade and, as such, Arthur frequently turned to him for guidance. Mordred was the only knight that was completely bald, but he did not take baldness as a sign of old age or weakness. Instead, he was probably the most fit and young-looking of all the Knights of the Round Table.

&nbs
p; Besides the two men, there was the young Alice, daughter to the king. Alice was fourteen years old. Alice had her mother’s beautiful blonde hair and white skin and her father’s aroma of confidence and stamina. Her long hair currently hung down over her dark red dress. She was considerably tall for her age, about five feet and six inches, and acted much more mature than any young teenage girl. She, like her father, hardly left her mother’s side during this horrific period in her life.

  Arthur could see that his wife was suffering and it pained him greatly. “Mordred, will you get my wife some water,” said Arthur softly.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Mordred, as he walked down the stairs to fetch a cup of water.

  Arthur looked down at Guinevere, with tears streaming down his eyes. Her body was now terribly malnourished, her hands as cold as ice. “You will make it my dear,” mumbled Arthur. But he knew that his words were merely words, unable to heal, unable to save. Holding her hand in his he watched as she turned over, opened her eyes, and looked deeply into his. She could only mumble. “Arthur, keep this kingdom safe and protected…love this kingdom as you love me…” Arthur wanted to speak, but restrained himself in hopes that she would speak further. “Alice…” Alice moved forward next to the queen, clasping her hands tightly. The queen clasped her hand as hard as she had strength.

  “Yes mother!” said Alice. “I am here!” Her voice was chipper, but her countenance of a solemn reverence.

  “I love you dear. Follow and take care of your father. Alice…Alice…” Her voice was trailing off and Mordred had just returned with a cup of water in his hand, but he knew it was too late. The queen had finally drifted off into a far-off land, a place that Arthur knew he couldn’t travel. Mordred placed his hand firmly on Arthur’s shoulder, sighing.

  “I am sorry,” said Mordred.

  Arthur let his head fall onto the bed.

  “Come back to me!” yelled Arthur. “Don’t do this! Don’t force me to live this life without you!”