Bedievere looked as the three women loaded the wounded body of Arthur onto their ship. Something did not seem right, but the countenance of these women was such that Bedievere did not feel it was safe to talk. They sailed off into the night, and Bedevere whispered into the crisp air, “My Lord, I pray you get to your place of rest soon.” He shuffled back, stepping over a pile of dead bodies. He held his sword in the air and shouted, “This battle has turned me to a man of peace, I will not draw my sword against anyone anymore!” Then Bedeviere threw his sword into the sea, and watched as it sunk to the bottom. He knew that it would be a long journey back home.
King Arthur started to stir as he realized that he was…..moving. “ This is strange”, he thought to himself. His entire body hurt with the piercing of blades from many weapons and angry hands who no longer breathed. But he breathed, and he was in intense pain. He gasped as he saw his sister. Morgana, who always hated him. She shrieked with hateful delight, “I see that you are still alive. That would not be for long!” “Where is Excalibur? What have you done with my sword?” King Arthur demanded in his rage.
Morgana sneered at him and said, “I have no use for that piece of cheap metal when I have a High King!” King Arthur’s anger switched to an emotion that was foreign to him, fear. He looked around with horror to realize there were no knights around him, no men with armor to save him. Morgana bent down and whispered to him with malice dripping in her voice, “ You may have been a High King, but the Emperor of the New Rome has need of you.” She pressed the open wound on his side, and all King Arthur felt was pain until unconsciousness came to save him.
Lancelot was in a room praying. It gave him comfort day by day, although he had unease in his heart. In his mind, raced a past life of swords and the twisted look of men he had killed. “Those were too many twisted looks which led to my twisted life.”, Lancelot said to himself. He went down on one knee and began to reflect on mercy, on grace. Suddenly someone opened the door and yelled, “ My Lord, the High King is missing!”
Lancelot rose up immediately and his hands went to his side. The soldier’s instinct was still there, even though he went to the convent to atone and become a holy man. There was nothing there, and he shook his head as he remembered he had given his weapons to the abbot of the convent. Lancelot asked, “ But I thought the High King was dead!” The man said, “ The High King was not dead, but now we cannot even find his body!” Lancelot was suddenly moved to tears by the loss of his friend, who he had betrayed, but who always stood by him to the end.
The abbot came in and in his hands was Lancelot’s full armor, sword, and shield. The abbot kneeled down and raised up Lancelot’s weaponry. The man kneeled down as well and the abbot said, “ My liege, you are now High King and you must recovered the Sacred One. Only you have the battle-knowledge necessary to win this fight.” Lancelot put on his armor and instantly he was transformed from a man of prayer to a man of war. The abbot looked into Lancelot’s eyes and was so terrified he fell over. The abbot thought, “ So this is the visage that so many men looked at before they died. May heaven have mercy on this land!” Lancelot motioned to the man and said, “Get me your finest horse. We must raise up an army to rescue Arthur!” The man nodded and he and Lancelot walked out of the room.