The Poison Rose: A King Arthur Tale Read online

  “Merlin was a very secretive man,” said Lancelot. “The fact that he chose to reveal so much to you shows your great character.”

  “Not just me,” replied Arthur, as he laid his hand on his book. “Someday the entire world will be able to have that knowledge. I believe the knowledge of love is the most important type of knowledge. But knowledge of love can only come to people through experience, and only when they are ready. And someday, someday perhaps, the world will meet me again and know me, not as their king, but as their friend.”

  “But why the Poison Rose?” asked Lancelot, as he looked at the book title. “If you say that this book is all about wizards and witches that are created out of some great injustice, then why not name it something else?”

  “Because,” replied Arthur. “I think that corrupt love is the greatest injustice, for no man or woman should ever be forced to live in this world not knowing true love and especially having lived with corrupt love. Corrupt love is worse than no love at all.”

  “You were able to do something for these people that they couldn’t do for themselves and for that you are their hero,” said Lancelot. “You become something more. To them you are a great symbol—a symbol that will endure as long as man draws breath.”

  “But as a symbol I must eventually leave and let someone else take up my mantle,” said Arthur.

  Lancelot sighed. “Very well. To my dismay and sadness I see that this must be. So when will you leave?”

  Arthur looked on his desk where he had Merlin’s map. He picked it up, placed it into his pack, and then got up from his chair. “I am leaving tonight to arrive at the western shore of this land by morning. I leave my book to you my great Lancelot. May you keep it from the world until the world is ready. When the world is ready and willing you may reveal it, but until then let it be a secret. Let people know of me and my story the way they desire.”

  Lancelot and Arthur then again shared a strong embrace. Tears streamed down both their cheeks. “We will meet again!” said Lancelot.

  Arthur then moved towards the door. “Oh, and Lancelot…tell Alice that I love her. I trust you and I couldn’t stand the pain of saying goodbye to her myself.”

  Lancelot nodded. “Of course I will.”

  Arthur then descended down to the stables where he would again and for the last time, secretly leave Camelot. There, in the stables he found his wondrous horse Hengroen. He smiled and ran his hands through her hair. He mounted her and then prepared himself to leave. But just before he reached the tunnel entrance he heard a frail voice in the air.

  “Arthur!”

  Arthur turned around to see Alice, followed closely by Lancelot.

  “Oh, what did I say Lancelot!” boomed Arthur.

  “I am sorry,” said Lancelot. “But with all due respect you are no longer king and Alice would never talk to me again should I let you leave without her saying goodbye.”

  So there, in the basement of the castle, Arthur and Alice exchanged one last embrace before parting. It was emotional and Alice couldn’t bear to see him leave, but she knew he must.

  “I am sorry Alice. Know that I would give anything in this world to be able to stay here with you, to see the beloved family awaiting you, but alas, that is not my destiny.”

  Alice nodded. “I know that God guides your fortunes, but know you will forever be in my heart.”

  It caused Arthur great pain to leave Alice behind, to not be able to see the rest of her life. In fact, Arthur felt more pain now than in any other time in his life—to think that he was to leave his loving daughter. “Oh I cannot bear this departure!” boomed Arthur, breaking into tears. But Arthur knew that departures in life are as natural as arrivals. He also knew that the pain of departure would only be amplified the longer he stayed in Camelot.

  Arthur and Alice then parted, and as Arthur turned back all he could see was her face draped with tears—the same kind of tears he made after Merlin’s death. He knew that they were tears of joy for his great future, but sadness at parting.

  ******

  Shortly after Arthur left Lancelot brought his son Galahad up to Arthur’s tower and showed him the book that Arthur left behind. “I will only show it to you now,” said Lancelot. “But perhaps later I will show it to the world.” Galahad picked up the book and looked through its pages. “These shall be to the people the words of a hero.”

  “But sir,” said Galahad. “There is no ending in this book.”

  “Perhaps he meant for it to be that way,” said Lancelot. “Without an ending he can be what he always wanted to be, not being able to be defined.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Legend,” said Lancelot. He smiled as he picked up the book. “Let them make up their own legend, the legend that is right for them. Then, when the time is right the truth will be revealed.”

  “But why hide it?” asked Galahad. “There is nothing they have to be ashamed of.”

  “No, there is nothing to be ashamed of in love, but when people make up their own legend it becomes personal, a legend they will create with the brightness of their own hearts. Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, but teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime. Give a man a complete legend and you feed his soul for a day, but give him an incomplete legend, a legend that he must work to complete—then you feed his soul for a lifetime. For who is to say what is a good ending but our heart?”

  Epilogue: A New Journey

  Arthur stood on the shores of the sea with his travel pack secured over his shoulder and with the map he had gotten from Merlin held tightly in his hand. He paused for a moment and looked down at the map, and then back out over the waves of the sea.

  The interesting thing about Merlin’s magical map was that the island of Avalon, not ordinarily on any map, was not only present on it but would move before Arthur’s eyes. Arthur thought this was extremely odd, but after having finally understood Merlin’s deepest secrets and magic, he was not surprised.

  According to legend the island of Avalon moved, and thus could only be accessed by someone who had the map to find it. The voyage to Avalon would be long, but it would be worth it more than any other he had undertaken before.

  He was relieved when he reached the western sea. It was here, on the shores of the sea, that he instructed his loyal steed Hengroen to return to Camelot. Arthur knew he had taken his last ride through his kingdom.

  Despite the joy he had at seeing the sea, he was also anxious and nervous at what would await him beyond his homeland. He had never before seen waves and never before attempted to cross the sea. It certainly was the start of something new—a new journey.

  Arthur pulled from out of his pocket his wife’s old blue diamond ring. “I will be able to return to you my dear!” exclaimed Arthur.

  In these moments Arthur realized that his entire life journey to this point was not leading to the moment he had suspected, the moment when he finally defeated the witch or his daughter’s wedding. Instead, it was this moment. It was not a moment of death, nor of life, but of peaceful meditation, a moment in-between the old life and the life he knew lay ahead of him. In these few unique moments he could see all the moments of his past, from the brightest to the darkest. But this wasn’t all. He could also see his future. He could see himself holding hands with his wife, and there, in the new world he could see another child. He could see a son. Arthur realized that the shores of this sea were magical and provided him with complete sight. He bent down to feel the water and found it was not cold or warm but just perfect. It was not dirty, but clear and mystical in a way he had not seen in any other water before. He even doubted whether it was water at all, but some mystical piece of heaven extended to the mortal world.

  As Arthur walked down along the beach by the water a small wooden boat appeared in the distance, the same boat no doubt, that Merlin used to come to this land. Arthur looked down into the boat and found that it was entirely empty except for two paddles. The boat was certainly not new,
but it, like the water, seemed to have a mystical quality. It was as if it was pleading for him to enter. Arthur looked down at the boat and pulled it towards the water. He looked back one last time at his homeland, and then, without wasting another second, jumped into the boat. He picked up a paddle and pushed himself from off the shore. There he found himself slowly paddling away into the great unknown. Arthur’s journey was not typical, nor was it uneventful, but instead, it was simply extraordinary because Arthur was extraordinary. Never before had there been, nor would there even be, a better king, hero, friend, father, or husband in Camelot than Arthur!

  The only thing Arthur ever really wanted was to be loved by his people and he could finally say that they all loved him—not as a king or leader of the Knights of the Round Table, nor as a defeater of the Poison Rose, but for who he was.

  Although the absolute ending of Arthur cannot be written in this book it can be said that the thought of the Poison Rose never plagued his mind again. He was on a new journey, a journey filled with hope, peace, and joy. He was on a journey made for those who dwell on high and live in the light of true love. Looking back over the cool waters he continued paddling away towards the setting sun where he felt the wind against his shoulders and knew that his journey, and the journey of his kingdom, was, in all actuality, just beginning. Arthur now understood the magic of love, but this was only the beginning of his knowledge. Love was the gate, but so much greater was the knowledge he would gain. The legend of King Arthur had begun.