Halloween Special: Queen of Camelot

The King and The Hag

Author's Note:

This is a Halloween special I wrote using an epistolary novel prompt. An epistolary novel is a book or story told through letters or journal entries. This form of storytelling has been used for centuries and includes such titles as Dracula by Bram Stoker and The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. At this time, the story is meant as only a short story to give myself some Halloween vibes.

My dearest Isolde,

Curse the day that King Arthur befouled the mood of the witch Morgana. And curse the day that you dared me to throw tomatoes at her in the market. Truly, how did we get in this heap of steaming cow—ahem. I can already hear you scolding me for my language.

Fret not, dear Isolde, I shall not offend your sensibilities.

But I shall force you to listen to my tale of mischief and woe, for it is partly your fault.

T'was a frightfully rainy day when you dared me to throw that rotten tomato at the old hag strapped to the stock in the town square, and I shall not forget (nor forgive, mind you) how you teased and poked my side until I finally acquiesced.

How was I to know she was really a witch? 

The tomato had barely left my hand when I heard the loud shouts "make way, make way for the king!" In that moment I dreaded that, with my luck, the tomato would splatter the shiny armor of the newest man to establish himself as King over this dreary island.

But I suppose it would have been better to offend the king—at least then my death would have been swift and I could haunt you from my grave.

Nay, the rotten fruit collided with the silvery, unwashed tendrils of the hag, and my fate was sealed.

I expected her to crow with displeasure, but she just laughed. She laughed heartily, as if she had not been forced into the stock for indecent exposure and public urination, and rather had come down from the mountains for a picnic and a spot of entertainment.

You, Isolde, had already moved on to join the crowd gathering to greet the new king. Do you recall how he looked that day? 

His broad armor was so shined and greased that the rain dared not stick to him, and his gold chainmail could be heard clinking even above the thunder. His hair, a bright yellow, was encircled by a jewel-encrusted crown that held the strands in place against the rain.

Handsome? To be sure! As is a requirement of any young man in uniform, I suppose.

His faithful dog, the First Knight Sir Lancelot, rode a warhorse just behind him, his green eyes always watching the crowd for danger. His armor, less polished than the king, showed the years of strain that war had wrought. Prince Arthur and his knights of the round table had fought for many a year to secure his father's throne, and now he returned home a King.

The hag's laughter only increased when King Arthur rode by, and he paused, looking around as if astounded that someone would dare to do anything but swoon and throw flowers.

He drew his black warhorse up sharply and looked down at the woman. I stood so close I was almost between them and dared not move as his knights surrounded us. Horses' hooves pounded the sticky mud around me. The knights glowered down from their worn and dented armor.

"Who dares mock the King of Camelot?" said he, his voice raised above the pattering rain.

"Oh," crooned the old crow, "I would never mock the true king, but I may laugh at any pretender that I wish."

I should have known then that this would end poorly.

King Arthur drew his sword, that fabled weapon which he claimed to have pulled from the stone, and pointed it at the woman.