The Calling

Sleep eluded Francis as he lay on his bed, fully clothed and staring at the ceiling. His eyes wandered over to the hastily packed bag leaning against the wall in the corner of the room. The pack bulged under the weight of his clothing stuffed at random inside the bag as it laid expectantly waiting patiently for its impending journey. His hands clutched tightly at his small burgundy passport in his hands as they laid over his chest and he hazarded allowing his eyes to close for a moment. Questions bounded into his head, was he doing the right thing? he wondered or was he running away from his problems. Most of the night he had spent convincing himself that he was doing the right thing. His tired mind begged for sleep, but his conscious mind reminded him that his visions crept into reality through his dreams. He sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stared through the darkness toward his clock on the table. The small red lights blinked at him and mocked his sleepless night. Four o’clock... Francis rubbed his tired eyes and sighed as he looked at the clock. There were no sounds from outside his room and the quietness slightly unsettled him as he rose from the bed and crossed to the window, where he parted the curtains and gazed out onto the street below. The woman once again stood in her naked form beneath the street light and beckoned up toward him as he peered from behind the glass pane.

“Come to me...” her voice wafted up through the early morning air and passed through his window. The sound of her whisper was barely audible, but still sent shivers along his spine. He backed away from the window and allowed the curtain to fall back into place hiding the street from view. “Come to me...” he could still hear her voice as he collapsed down onto the bed. Francis closed his eyes and hid the room as he crossed his arms over his head attempting to block out the sounds of her voice.

“Sire!” the sound of Lord Kay broke the revere of the King as he sat high in his saddle. He swept his gaze over the courtyard toward the plethora of knights awaiting his command before turning his attention to the knight at his side.

“Speak” he replied simply and returned his attention once again to his charge between his legs. The dark brown charger swayed beneath his touch and stamped at its own impatience at the head of the procession.

“Is it wise to leave Mordred on the throne until our return my lord”

Arthur scanned his knight for a moment, “you question my decision?” he asked.

Lord Kay shifted under the King’s scrutiny, “No my lord...but...”

“But? speak freely Lord Kay” replied Arthur, “I wish to hear your counsel”

“Lord Mordred is known for his treachery my lord and it is widely known that he coverts to throne...as does his aunt”

King Arthur laughed at Kay’s concerns and waved away his protests, “Good knight...” he began, “you worry too much. Yes, I concede the ambitions of Mordred, but thine king has divine passage to the throne of England and Mordred would dare not wrestle that from these hands” he held outstretched his armoured before him as he spoke, “he seeks favour good Kay, and have faith Merlin will keep that harpy Morgan in check until our return. Now let us talk no more of deceit and ride to France to meet Iseult and deal with the treacherous Lancelot”. Kay nodded at his King and respectfully bowed his head before taking his place behind the King. Arthur cast a glance behind him and sat for a moment watching his knights settle into position and felt his heart swell with pride as the banners fluttered in the wind. Satisfied that all was well, he pulled his sword from its scabbard and raised it high above his head. “Onward!” he roared and with a slight kick into the horse’s ribs and line of knights spent forward into the morning air.

From above the courtyard a figure detached itself from the window of the throne room and strode purposely across the hall to the expectant throne. His golden armour shimmered under the candle light and a smirk played across his face and he settled into the large chair.

“Comfortable?” a female voice broke the silence of the Great Hall and caused the man to writhe uncomfortably in the throne for a moment.

“Morgan” he purred as he turned to the source of the voice. He watched as the woman glided across the floor toward him. Her form was tall and slim and she wore an elegant air of grace which matched his long flowing gown. Golden hair cascaded down her back and fell from beneath a simple jewelled golden crown which sat majestically on her head. Her blue eyes shone with a deadly intelligence as she regarded the figure in the chair and she smiled running her hand across his chest as she slowly teased herself toward the back of the throne. Her beauty was as much striking as it was deadly and her silky tones played in his ear as she leaned closely toward his head. She eased back his unruly black hair and breathed warmly into his ear and whispered softly.

“You covert what is not yours” she breathed seductively.

“What man does not” replied Mordred simply and turned to face her. “It is my desire which drives me not the want of the people”

“That pleases me” he teased and allowed her hand to run down the front of his body until it reached his waistline. Mordred looked down at her hand, but made no attempt to move it and instead allowed a smile to cross his face. “I offered Arthur everything...” she continued as her hand played against the surface of his armour, her eyes locked onto his, then stood sharply and crossed to the window and watched as the last of the knights disappeared through the heavy gates of the castle. “But the fool rejected me in favour for that harlot Guinevere” she turned back to Mordred on the throne watching her with interest. “I offer you the same...” her voice teased with intent as her gown fell to the stone floor. She stepped from the clothing and walked slowly toward the throne meeting his gaze, “give yourself and I promise...you shall be King of England!”