“Tomorrow.” She heard Lancelot’s voice before he leaned forward so she could see him on Arthur’s other side. “Tuesday. Every bloody Tuesday. Most kingdoms hold court once a month, but not this one. A solid six hours of complaints and queries and asinine requests every week,” he said brightly. He clinked his cup against Arthur’s before draining its contents and heartily slamming it on the table with a performative eyeroll. “It’s so fortunate for you to get that experience back.”
Vera peppered Lancelot with a steady stream of questions about court during their run the next morning. “It is valuable and incredible for the kingdom’s morale,” he relented breathlessly as they crested a steep hill in the woods. “But of course, everyone thinks what they have to say is the most important thing in the universe. They all want to feel understood by their king, and I’ll be damned if Arthur doesn’t deliver. It just takes so long, Guinna, and it’s usually mind-numbingly boring.”
She’d instinctively been connecting what was to come with the judicial system. “But isn’t that where you’d address crime or violence?”
Their eyes were trained on the ground in front of them while they ran, ever ready for rocks and roots, but Vera could feel Lancelot looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Well, yes, but things have been remarkably good since the wars ended. It’s been a bit like living in a bubble … there’s been little crime.”
“And … ?” Vera prompted, sensing there was more.
“And it’s a carefully cultivated culture. There’s no way it will last. We’re going to outgrow the idealism of it. But if you tell Arthur I said that, I will deny it to my grave. We keep as many sentencings out of court as possible. When crime does happen, it’s a battle with Arthur to punish offenders appropriately.”
“Is he harsh?” asked Vera, remembering Arthur’s sharp glare and glassy eyes from the first time she’d seen him. And it didn’t take an historian to know the Middle Ages were a cruel time, chopping off hands for theft and heads on a whim. She’d been scared to even ask. Scared to find out how Arthur wielded his godlike power to keep the land in such a utopian peace.
But Lancelot laughed so loudly that Vera stumbled. She huffed and ran on in silence.
“I forgot that you don’t really know him anymore,” he said more gently. “He isn’t harsh. That’s the problem. We spent so many years on the battlefield. Justice in war was unforgiving and brutal. Arthur had a different vision. When justice needed to be dealt, it could be done with mercy. He always wants to find a way to choose mercy.”
“And you don’t want him to?”
“He can’t, Guinna. You can’t rule and have everyone go home happy. When a criminal complaint arises at court, Percival—you’ll meet him later today. He’s the youngest knight and easy to pick out as he has a scar across his whole face. Anyway, Percival and I work to convince Arthur when it comes time for sentencing. Arthur’s no fool. He knows what needs to be done, but hearing it affirmed by the ones you trust most … well, in the end, he’s laid the groundwork for the country he hopes for. More often than not, if he extends a fair justice, he can trust that his people will come through with mercy.
“But it’s rarely ever anything interesting. We get a lot of announcements of marriage, farming issues, magic gone sideways, someone quarreling with their aunt’s brother’s cousin over land … It will be more interesting when you begin retaking queries,” he added the last with a baiting tone that Vera knew without looking was accompanied by a sly grin.
“You’re joking,” she said, endeavoring to keep her voice flat and not give him the satisfaction of rising to his taunt. She hadn’t considered that she might be expected to participate in the proceedings.
“Yes, but not entirely,” he said. “Once you’re feeling more yourself, Merlin thinks you should. But that seems like it might be a while, doesn’t it?”
Vera couldn’t even imagine it.
Court was in a chamber she had never been in before. She sat on the throne next to Arthur’s atop a dais at the front of the room. Several other chairs were behind them, one occupied by Matilda, the rest by advisers and attendants: the crown’s treasurer, two citizen representatives (who Lancelot told her changed each week), Lancelot, and Percival. She recognized the latter by the prominent scar beginning under his eye and tracing across the bottom right half of his young face before it disappeared beneath his tunic. Merlin was the last to come in. He’d only gotten back the day prior. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and he moved more slowly than usual.
Vera had stumbled upon him in the courtyard on the way back from her run. She’d been worried he would want to exchange pleasantries and belabor the conversation, but Merlin was nearly as eager to broach the heart of it as her.
“Has Arthur—” He stopped. Vera was already shaking her head.
“I did try,” she said at his look of disappointment. To her surprise, she found she actually cared that he knew that. “Can we try magic?”
Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed. “I don’t think we have another option.”
She’d been ready to follow him to his study right then and there.
“After court,” he’d said wearily. “I need to consider how we do this. I’ll have more time soon.” It was cryptic, but his meaning became clear as soon as court began.
Merlin’s was the day’s first audience. He and Arthur announced they’d sent for a second mage to fill Viviane’s position. “He is the youngest among the council of mages. He is very smart, though a bit odd.” Merlin smiled fondly before he carried on. “The demand of maintaining the current magical structures of Camelot has kept me from attending to the kingdom’s long-term needs. This will help.” At that, his tired eyes flashed to Vera, and she averted hers, feeling senselessly guilty. Arthur was the one who should be ashamed.
The pettiest part of Vera relished that she might get to see him under pressure today. There could be a complaint about him that he’d have to answer, that he couldn’t turn away from with an icy glare.
But it was nothing like that. He was nothing like that.
She’d seen so little of him beyond a cold expression, and he’d said even less. Here, he was an entirely different person than the man who slept in the room adjacent to hers. This man listened to his citizens with interest and respect. It had no bearing if they were dressed in finery or rags, whether they approached Arthur with dire concerns about their farm’s survival, a dispute when the equivalent of pennies was owed, or even a baby’s birth announcement. Arthur asked thoughtful questions and engaged each in conversation. His voice, which Vera had thus far heard in only a few sentences at a time, was now the anchoring sound. She was startled when she realized that the sound of his voice, commanding, steady, and deep, soothed her.
Depending on the subject, Arthur consulted with each member of his gathered council. Lancelot and Percival provided advice about military matters, and the two citizens served as a catch-all for interpersonal and daily life issues. All were regularly included in the process except for Vera, who watched silently from Arthur’s side.
He never grew weary as the hours crawled on and person after person filed into the throne room. Vera’s mind would occasionally drift, and her eyes glazed over, but the low tenor of Arthur’s voice drew her back. The image that Merlin and Lancelot painted of him came into focus. Perhaps this was the magic they had described. Even Vera could feel it: Arthur was made for this. Made to build and rule and love his country. It was extraordinary to witness; here was a man who measured up to his legend.