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cynicalclassicist · 5 years ago

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Mordred’s Takeover

So... year's been unpleasant in numerous ways. And the election result did not go as I hoped. But in a vent-out of rage here is something I wrote. Needs work but it's a start.

Mordred was making another of his speeches to the crowd. “And I say it is the fault of those people! The Jews and Muslims, coming here, treating our country as if it were their own! The lords who are puppets of Luxemburg and its Emperor!”

To tell the truth before this Luxemburg had not been on the mind of most of the people in the crowd. But they heard these words and rejoiced at them. Being in a cheering crowd was such a wonderful feeling, you all felt together, believed you were part of something bigger.

“Heil Mordred! Heil Mordred!” cheered the hundreds, egged on by his men in the crowd.

Mordred left the stand and stalked into the hall where he was meeting the Saxon ambassador, a lord named Bunignus. Mordred was followed by his father-in-law Gwallanus. “My fool of a father has left the Kingdom with me” he said seating himself in a throne.

“But you cannot be King for now” said the Saxon ambasador. “You still need your father to not be King.”

“Yes…” said Mordred, his body twisting like a serpent in his stately seat. The thought of his father coming back from France… His fingers clenched.

Gwallanus stepped forward. “But… is that wise? Your father is old. A move to seize power might be a reason for disinheritance…”

Mordred stood up in fury. “I will not lose the throne! I will not be weak! It is time to show the Pendragon my strength!” He remembered what his mother had told him, of the wrong Arthur’s father did to his grandfather. Now was the time for revenge, on the whole Pendragon line, a revenge that would be known for a thousand years.

“This is for my family…” muttered Mordred. “Bring in my sons!”

In came Melehan and Melou, his sons by Cwyllog… who Mordred had not seen for years. Fortunate, she had not been producing more sons. And with her gone perhaps another could share Mordred’s bed…

“Melehan, my heir. Now is the time for us to take power! To revenge ourselves!” said Mordred. “But aren’t we Pendragons?” asked Melehan.

Mordred moved forward furiously. “I am Gorlois’ grandson! You his great-grandson! We must avenge his murder by Arthur’s father!”

“But he’s our grandfather!” protested Melou. Mordred struck him across the face. “Do not deny this is our time!”

“Yes… of course father” said Melehan.

“But we must be wary now. Lies will be told against us. Plots, schemes. But it is all false! Our acts our justified!” Mordred remembered what Jarl Vidkun of Norway had told him. Adopt the tactics of Lucius. Talk of driving out the other. A show of strength. And that salute… he would try that as well.

“Go out! Tell the people of the Parliament! Show my strength!” he snarled.

“What strength?” asked Melehan.

“Gather a Parliament!” said Mordred. “Now! This is my moment!”

He produced a piece of paper and the royal seal. Then he took the piece of writing in which his father had named him steward of the Kingdom, with full rights.

Sir Enoch entered. “Sir Mordred!” he said, saluting. “I have the man.”

A prisoner entered. “A man from the cells of London, a forger of legal documents.”

“Write what I say” said Mordred. “In this writing.” He threw it down.

“What if I don’t?” asked the prisoner.

“If you succeed you will be given enough gold to live on the rest of your life. Fail and you die” snarled Mordred, though his eyes were gleaming with a frightening joy. It was unsettling and even Enoch edged towards the door.

The forger, a man named Alf, sighed, sat down and began to write very slowly. Mordred stood there watching him constantly. These were not pleasant eyes. At times Mordred had been charismatic, despite his unconventional appearance. But this was not the public Mordred but the private Mordred. Alf scratched out the signature slowly… for the second time, the first one had been difficult to do with those eyes boring into him.

A few days later a ship arrived and a messenger rode off, surrounded by guards, hastening to Westminster where Mordred sat. Mordred, not that eagerly, held out his hand for the letter. Reading it, an expression of exaggerated grief appeared on his face and he wept, holding his face.

“What is it, Sir Mordred?” asked a Baron.

“Here! Read this… but be careful!”

Mordred thrust the letter at him. The Baron read it and horror formed.

“Sir Enoch! Read it!” Mordred snatched the letter and held it out to the Knight, who took it and a moment later seemed to have finished it.

“The Parliament must know!” he said. “I’ll summon them!”

“Wolverhampton is with you” Enoch told Mordred. “I made one of my speeches. About the pollution of the Round Table, the blood that would be spilt if they continued with letting in other races.”

“That is excellent news” said Mordred, sipping his wine. He stood. “I have a title ready for you… if events go as I hope.”

It was days later. Mordred strode into the Parliament building, where people from all over Arthur’s Kingdom had gathered.

“My father, King Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon… is dead.” Mordred waited for the gasps to die away. “As his only son I claim the throne.”

There was murmuring. What Mordred said was true… but the circumstances of his birth…

“My father named me heir in the letter.” Mordred produced it for all to see.

“May I see this letter?” asked one of the Knights. He looked over it. “That is the royal seal but Arthur’s…”

“It is real!” replied Mordred, snatching it with such force he nearly tore it.

“Could we compare it to more of Arthur’s writing?” asked another Knight.

Mordred turned his blazing eyes upon them. “Do you dare to question my words?”

“I merely wish to see if it…”

“A plot to subvert the will of our late King!” snarled Mordred. “Am I not his son? Does not the blood of Britain flow in my veins from both of my parents?”

“Heil Mordred!” cried Gwallanus from his place in the Parliament.

“Heil Mordred!” cried others who had met Mordred before, though at first their voices were few among the many. Yet the voices began to grow.

For the past few months Mordred had feasted the nobles. He had opened the vaults of his father, where they had stored wealth for their plans. A new hospital in London, improved roads, repairs to a bridge in Lincoln… but these were not important to Mordred.

And finally mutters began to be heard among the nobles, as Mordred had hoped there would be. “Why do we have to be ruled by Arthur?”

“Why do we have to pay more taxes when we don’t benefit?”

“Why can’t Arthur have more feasts for his nobles after all the work they do?”

“Why does Arthur give our money to the workers? He’s more peasant then King!”

“Mordred doesn’t hand out money to workers haphazardly.”

“Mordred doesn’t steal our wealth.”

And so, when Mordred said that Arthur was dead, even though news had not come elsewhere, and even merchants said they had not heard Arthur was dead… it was what much of the nobles wanted to hear. And not just nobles but people over Britain.

Gwallanus, eager to see his line hold the throne at last, was Mordred’s readiest supporter.

So it was that after a day of discussion the Parliament agreed that Mordred was the rightful King. Members of the Workers Party of Tor looked at each other in terror, knowing what this would mean. But alas, though they were against Mordred too many people favoured him.

Yet Mordred remained in his rooms writing out letters for outside Logres. After stamping an order for a forger to have his tongue cut out then be publicly executed he was writing for hours. To Jarl Vidkun in Norway, to Duke Chelric in Saxony, even to Lucius, to Eugenius III in Scotland, to Gunvasius in Orkney.

Jarl Vidkun had given Mordred many ideas from their meetings, of who to blame, of who to ally with. He had even shown Mordred that salute the Romans had performed, which Vidkun had learned from Lucius’ men.

Eugenius might not wish to show any submission to the rulers down south, but there was much Mordred could offer him. Perhaps an offer of greater autonomy. And Eugenius may well be a kindred spirit, considering the rumours about the death of his uncle. Of course Mordred found him personally pathetic, with his lack of desire towards any, he was hardly a proper man. But he could still be useful for the time being. Once Arthur was gone and Mordred secure… then relations between Logres and Scotland would certainly face renegotiation.

Gunvasius could be tricky, he had been opposed to Mordred’s stepfather King Lot ruling Orkney instead of him. But perhaps an offer to recognise him as King of Orkney...

“In Rome the younger Lucius rises” he said pleasantly. “I hope if Lancelot does not slay my father he will.”

“But what if he should claim Britain?” asked Enoch.

“And what of it? I will be King!” cried Mordred.

He turned and another thought struck him, of another detail written in the letter. “Guinevere will marry me” said Mordred, his eyes alight with lust. “As was ordered in the letter.”

“But… her age…” said Enoch.

“She was always sterile” said Mordred, with a smile. “But I have sons already.”

Not all accepted him. Lady Lisanor refused him. As did the Lords of Powys and Gwynned. But Mordred did not care. He had what he wanted. Those lands would fall to him in time. Even the land of Gorre and that whore Carys, daughter of that old fool Bagdemagus.

“Duke Chelric has long hated Arthur for his deeds. He opposed the Saxons for a long time, and his great-nephew slew the Duke’s nephew. He will jump at the chance of revenge” replied Mordred.

“But… he’s a Saxon! We are building Britain for the British!” said Sir Enoch.

Mordred smiled. “What does that matter? He will assist us. He will assist against our enemies.”

“And isn’t Cliges your nephew?”

Mordred spat. “That Greek? My whore sister should never have married that effeminate fool!” He smiled. “But he is far away from the reach of Saxony… and too far to help Arthur. I may be Arthur’s son… but I am not Arthur.”

He turned. “Now… to Guinevere. She must know of the wedding.”

Mordred left the chambers of the Queen. It had taken some time but she had given him a new place to go to, somewhere which should help his rule’s image.

It was not long after this that Mordred picked up the sword of his father’s father, named Clarent. It had been given to Guinevere for safekeeping and in order to prove her loyalty to him she had given its location to him. Not as fine as Excalibur but a magnificent sword, even if it was more for ceremony.

“I will prove whose grandson I am!” He wielded the sword. “I am Gorlois’ grandson! I will avenge the wrong on my grandmother!”

“So Guinevere has agreed?” asked Enoch.

“Not yet” said Mordred. “But I reminded her who holds power now. I reminded her of the letter. That if she did not go ahead with the law… events might not go well for her. Or her maids.” A horrible grimace of a smile played across his face. “Such beautiful vengeance… what better way to revenge the wrong upon the British King then to take his wife, just as the British King took the wife of Cornwall for his own.” He laughed, a horrible laugh, a laugh that seemed to go on, which made Enoch step back, especially with Mordred brandishing Clarent as if he were in battle.

Ares, nephew to Sir Tor, was meeting Mordred just before his coronation. If he could swing those beloved of the people to his side, Mordred was sure he would crush any further resistance. Ares had the name of his grandfather, a cowherd living around Derby. His older relatives had too much bad blood with Mordred but if he could win the next generation over… Yet from the start Ares did not show much interest.

“I have heard the King is alive” he said when Mordred entered.

“The King is alive as I am King.”

“No. I mean your father, Arthur. If he is then you are not King.”

“You dare to go against the will of the people! That I am King!”

“But you only took that power through blatant lies. How is it what the people want if you gained it through lies?”

“Well… it wasn’t a lie!” said Mordred. “It was true. It’s in the letter!”

“Well if it isn’t true then people will know eventually. You can’t hide the truth forever” said Ares.

“What do you know you cow… shit-cleaner!” Mordred spat at him.

Ares wiped his face. “I know if someone offered me 10 good cows and gave me 5 sickly cows it was not a fair deal. You are no better than a trickster!”

“It’s what the people want!”

“Then you tricked a lot of people. You and your gang of frauds, screaming and sowing hate.”

“You are just a pathetic little man from a family that cleaned up cowpats” said Mordred.

“So much for the man of the people! Though you traitors may sneer it doesn’t diminish my cause” said Ares.

Mordred glared at him. He moved forward slowly, his feet padding across the floor as he stalked forward like a beast of the wood. He held Ares’ gaze, breathed in and looked as if he was about to say something. And suddenly his hand shot to his dagger, pulling it out of the sheath and pouncing forward.

Ares dodged nimbly and grabbed a plate, hurling it against the false Knight. Mordred threw up his arms and shouted in pain as it crashed into his face, drawing blood. Ares got to the door and attempted to get out but Mordred was close behind. Ares kicked between his legs and elbowed him in the chest, though gave a shout at feeling armour beneath there. They wrestled, but Ares was younger and forced Mordred down.

“Help! Help! Treason!” screamed Mordred.

His guards rushed in and cut Ares down. Mordred furiously plunged his dagger in, again and again, even when Ares had stopped moving, and he lay there, like a butchered beasts of the field ravaged by a beast while the herd was away.

The guards stood there, not sure what to do as their ruler’s rage flowed out. Finally he stood, drenched in Ares’ blood, breathing hard. He threw his dagger down and glared down at the body of the cowherd. “He was a traitor! He attacked me! It was not me!” He spat blood down at Ares. “HE WAS A TRAITOR!”

Of course the next day proclamations were put up condemning the danger of these working-class parties, with a treasonous plot against the rightful King. Mordred made a speech before the Parliament. Once this was over he could finally go and marry Guinevere. She had asked to buy clothes and other items for her entourage for the wedding, so her retainers had been around London buying foods all day and yesterday. Once Mordred was crowned they could be wed, she who had once shared his father’s bed would share his… Mordred thought of this and excitement grew in him like a fire.

“It is clear that this… Cowherd movement is dangerous” said Mordred. “We will need stronger methods to counteract them. Bring a motion forward! It will be treason to question my rule. I am the Peoples ruler, any movement against me is against the people!”

And the rest of Ares grandsons watched in horror as a crowd gathered, chanting “Heil Mordred! Heil Mordred! Heil Mordred! HEIL MORDRED!”

@blackcur-rants @cukibola @epic-summaries @ylvisruinedmylife

#arthuriana #my arthuriana #my writing #mordred #jarl vidkun #fuck boris #brexit

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