Children of the Knight, Michael J. Bowler [classic book list txt] 📗

up at her imploringly. “He thought he was worthless, Lady Jenny, not worth being loved, but he was worth it. I’m the one who’s not. I should be dead, not him!”

Jenny cupped his face in both hands, her blue eyes harsh with reprimand. “Don’t ever say that, Lance. Ever! You are worthy of love, and you did everything you could for Mark. It’s just that sometimes, everything isn’t enough.”

His eyes magnified with surprise. That thought had never occurred to him. Wasn’t there always something more that could be done?

She enfolded him in a soft, comforting hug and let him cry.

“How can I face Arthur now? How can he be proud of me after all this?”

Jenny pulled away from him so she could make eye contact. “Oh, Lance, Arthur is so proud of you I can’t even tell you.” His blurry eyes widened at that. “And he loves you so much, more than most fathers love their sons. Don’t you know that?”

Lance let go and clutched his skateboard with white-knuckled tightness. “That’s what Jack said, but milady, Arthur never said nothing like that, that he loves me.”

Jenny sighed with disgust. “Men. Never comfortable with their feelings. Trust me, Lance, it’s true. He loves you more than anything.”

Lance jerked his head up, startled by her words, but clearly seeing the truth of them on her softly pretty face.

“Have you told him how you feel about him?”

“That’s just it, milady. I don’t even know how. I never said those words to nobody before, ’cause there wasn’t ever nobody to say ’em to. ’Cept Mark.” He paused, his voice catching in his throat like a hiccup. “And now, well I be Arthur’s First Knight and all, and he’s counting on me. I gotta be strong and be in charge, and I gotta get everything right.”

“Nobody gets everything right, sweetie,” she assured him, continuing to stroke his damp, silky hair. “I know you’re his First Knight, but first and foremost you’re a young boy who needs love. We all need that, Lance. And we’re all worthy. Especially you.”

Lance scanned her earnest expression, saw the honesty in those soft gentle eyes, saw how much she cared, and hugged her tightly. She warmly embraced him. She held him for a few minutes, the two comforting each other.

Then Lance pulled away and gazed longingly at the image of Arthur.

“He’s on his way, Lance. For you.”

Lance stood at that, clutching his board as though afraid to let it go, and then began backing away from her, his heart pulling into his throat.

The clip clop, clip clop of trotting horse hooves came to his ears.

“I can’t face him right now, milady,” he spluttered, still backing away. “I’m too embarrassed. Tell him I… tell him I’ll see him later, at The Hub. I gotta think some more.”

And then he was gone before she could reply, bolting across the lawn to the sidewalk, up onto his board, and clattering down the dark, silent street.

Arthur trotted up to Jenny and leapt to the ground, gazing anxiously after the retreating boy. “Was that Lance I didst see just now? Is he all right?”

Jenny sighed. “Yes, and no.”

Arthur hurriedly set Excalibur down and sat in the swing beside her. The seat was still warm with Lance’s body heat. “Where hath he been?” His voice ached. “Why hath he not returned home, to me?”

“He loves you terribly, you know.”

Arthur considered this a moment, hoping her words were true. “Do you truly believe so?”

“Oh yes. It’s in his eyes, in his gestures, in the way he tries to imitate you. You’re the father he never had, but always longed for. And that’s the problem, Arthur. He thinks he failed you.”

Arthur shifted his gaze to the mural, a great weight settling itself upon his soul. Those early days of the clean-up campaigns, so innocent and triumphant, now seemed so long ago.

“Because of Mark? Because of what I said to him in haste?”

Jenny nodded.

“Jenny, that boy can do no wrong in mine eyes, though I know he be human.” He fought down his regret and recrimination. “I have such pride in him and all he hath achieved, I cannot even express it all.”

“Have you told him that?”

Arthur shook his head sadly. “Not as such, not for some time. Oh, Jenny, perhaps I am no better than the very people I fight against.” His voice echoed the remorse that filled his heart. “I feared the others would be struck with envy should I devote too much time to anyone, even my Lance. The needs of the entire company art more important than the needs of the one, milady.”

“Not with children,” she asserted, her blue eyes ablaze with passion. “They need individual love. That’s what’s wrong with our school system, with our one-size-fits-all, group mentality, in this country. Their individual needs have to be met. That’s what they’ve been missing, especially a kid like Lance, who never had anyone before you. He’s vulnerable, and he needs to know you love him, needs to hear you say it. He needs to know he’s worthy of being loved.” She paused, leaning forward to search his face. “You do love him, don’t you?”

He gazed deeply at the mural likeness of Lance. “Yes, I do love Lance as the son mine own Gwen was never able to give me. Mordred never knew me until ’twas too late, till he’d been poisoned against me. I have always regretted that I did not acknowledge him.”

“Lance is not Mordred,” she said firmly. “He needs you to acknowledge him, in front of everyone. He needs you to praise him and say you’re proud of him, to hold him and assure him that Mark was not his fault.”

Arthur rose from the swing and stood a short distance away, gauntleted hands awkwardly at his sides, his heart and soul swathed in regret. “When I awakened in this city, I found that my youth had been restored to me. And yet, the memories of an entire lifetime remained. Guinevere, Lancelot, Mordred, Merlin. I surmised ’twas so I should be better able to control this crusade, so as not to repeat the errors of the first.”

He turned back to face her. “Yet I am making them all the same, Jenny. I thought by selecting children, they should be easier to teach than were the grown men of Britain who failed me so many centuries ago. It seems I was wrong in that, as well. I am young, Jenny, yet I feel very, very old.”

She stood and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “You’re doing the best you can. That’s all you can do as a parent.”

“I begin to doubt mine ability to fulfill my destined purpose. Jenny, there be so many children. How can there be so many, with so many needs, and no one to fulfill them?”

“That’s the great failure of our society—too many adults who want to act like children, and too many people who expect children to act like adults.”

Arthur noted the acrimony in her voice. “Have I fallen into the same trap, Jenny? Do I expect too much of these children?”

“Yes, you do, especially Lance.”

He must have looked crestfallen, because her face softened.

“It’s not just you, Arthur, like I said, it’s the whole country. We want to pretend children are adults so we can put them in prison, and you want to pretend they’re adults so they can lead a revolution to get equal rights. But Arthur, much as we’d like them to be grown up so we don’t have to parent them and role model for them and set good examples for them, the bottom line is they’re children and need to be allowed to be children. Children can’t, and never will, think and feel like adults, because they aren’t adults. Not yet. Lance is an extraordinary boy, in every way, and he loves you so much he’ll do whatever you ask. But he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it’s too much for a child to handle. The guilt of failure, especially when you believe your failure cost a friend’s life, is impossible enough for us to bear. Do you really think a fourteen-year-old can deal with something like that?”

She paused, catching her breath, dropping her gaze in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Slipped into my teacher mode.”

Arthur nodded, not in the least offended. “You be an impassioned teacher, Jenny.”

“Look, Arthur, what you’re doing, what you’ve given these kids is phenomenal. You’ve given them hope, the greatest gift anyone can give a child. But they also need love. And they need good, responsible adults to guide them.”

“You be correct, as always, milady. In my zeal to create a new Camelot, I have neglected the most significant element—the human heart.”

He considered his mistakes, and what those mistakes may yet cost him. For the first time since beginning this crusade, the blanket of failure wrapped itself tightly around him.

“The success of my mission depends upon my ability to lead and guide these children, as ye hast said, upon my strength. But do I have that strength?”

“You have that strength,” she assured him. “I’ve seen it. And I’ll help all I can. We can recruit other adults too, Arthur, good people to support the kids, and your cause.”

He gazed again at the image of Lance and considered what he would say to the boy, how he could possibly make amends to him.

Jenny cleared her throat. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“Are you really, you know, the King Arthur? I know you told Helen you were and, not that it matters, because what you’re doing is good, but I just keep wondering and, well… are you?”

“Ye still have doubts, milady?”

“Of course I do!” she blurted and then covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. It’s just, you know, so impossible.”

Arthur gave her a sad smile. “Not if you have faith, Jenny. That seems to be an element greatly missing from this era.”

“Faith?” she repeated. “You mean in God?”

He nodded. “And in one another.”

She fell silent, contemplating his words.

Arthur’s eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed forlornly up at the stars.

“You thinking about Mark?”

“Yes.”

“Though loved ones be lost, love shall not, and death shall have no dominion…. Dylan Thomas wrote that, something close to it anyway.”

Arthur looked into her eyes. “It’s lovely.”

He saw compassion and understanding… and love?

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “You can’t control someone’s feelings.”

“But I did not see the signs. Perhaps I could have—”

She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t go there, Arthur. We all make mistakes. Some are… more costly than others.”

There was a heavy moment of silence between them as Arthur digested her words.

“These drugs, Jenny… they be a terrible scourge upon thy society.”

“I know. But even you can’t solve the drug problem. There’s too much money in it, too much crime. It’s too big.”

Arthur considered her words thoughtfully, his mind already turning with ideas. “Perhaps.”

Her face clouded with worry, and she shivered.

He slipped off his red cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Is that better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

They found themselves gazing deeply into one another’s eyes, his hands still resting lightly upon her shoulders. There was a pause. Quiet surrounded them. They kissed, long and deeply and gently.

Arthur pulled back, dropping his arms to his sides, feeling like a nervous teenaged boy again. “Alas, I must go, Jenny, though