Free Camelot by Colin Thompson Page A

use the same hoof I had to use for all those years. And let her eat the gruel from a really rough wooden bowl that has been eaten away by so many woodworms that she only has five minutes before the gruel leaks out all over the table and let her spoon be made of rusty iron with sharp bits and, and…’
    â€˜Sire, surely you would not punish the lady who gave you life with such cruelty?’ said Merlin.
    â€˜Oh, all right,’ said Arthur. ‘Don’t give her a rusty spoon. Give her a piece of the finest silver cutlery for her watery gruel.’
    â€˜Indeed, sire.’
    â€˜But make it a fork.’
    â€˜Sire, there are many at court who would say your mother has a heart of gold.’
    â€˜Yes, her heart is gold like a hard-boiled egg,’ said Arthur. ‘Dry with the texture of sawdust.’
    Merlin knew there was no changing the boy’s mind and if he was honest with himself, he hated the old Queen too.
    â€˜But to show that I am not totally heartless,’ Arthur added, ‘we shall give my mother a servant who reflects her importance as the mother of the King.’
    â€˜So I should send Sewyr back to her drain?’ said Merlin.
    â€˜Not likely,’ said Arthur. ‘No, we shall give her an important title. We hereby name her Lady Sewyr of the Slime.’
    â€˜Your majesty’s generosity,’ said Merlin in a sarcastic voice that went completely over the King’shead, ‘is only exceeded by your personal kindness.’
    â€˜Maybe you’re right,’ said Arthur. ‘Maybe I’m being too nice. I know niceness is one of my weaknesses. I think that is why my subjects love me so much.’
    Change love to loathe and you’re absolutely right, thought Merlin.

    â€˜Oh, woe is me,’ Queen Igraine cried. ‘That I should end my life so. After all I did for that ungrateful boy.’
    â€˜Maybe, my lady,’ Lady Sewyr of the Slime dribbled, ‘if you were to write down all the things you did for your son and send it to him, he might change his mind.’
    â€˜It’s worth a try, I suppose,’ said the Queen. ‘Bring me paper and a quill that I may write.’
    â€˜Paper?’
    The only paper Sewyr knew had fallen out of the holes above her head in the drains. It had beensoft and crumpled with perforations and full of extreme unpleasantness.
    â€˜Umm, well now. I’ll see what I can find,’ said Sewyr and went off to rummage through the castle cupboards.
    There were only two cupboards as it was a very small castle. One was full of dried gruel and the other was empty apart from a goat’s hoof. Nor was there any wallpaper in any of the rooms, but for all her grossness, Sewyr was a resourceful person. She went down to the kitchen and got a sharp knife.
    â€˜As you know, your son forbade you writing materials so this is all I can find, my lady,’ she said, handing Igraine a square of grey material.
    â€˜It’s hairy,’ said Igraine. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
    â€˜It is, my lady.’
    â€˜What is it? I mean, where did you get it?’
    â€˜It is skin, from my back, my lady, and I brought you some ink and a nib,’ said Sewyr.
    â€˜Red ink? It’s not a very friendly colour, is it?’
    â€˜Sorry, my lady, but that is the colour my blood is.’
    â€˜And the nib?’
    â€˜I had no need of that toenail,’ Sewyr whimpered. ‘Would you excuse me, my lady? I must go up to the roof and scream in agony for a while.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, off you go,’ said Igraine, ‘but do try to scream quietly. I am trying to concentrate on a letter to my son, you know.’
    â€˜Thank you, my lady,’ Sewyr cried and left the room.
    As luck would have it, Sewyr’s screaming was no distraction at all. The old servant had gone no more than ten steps from her mistress’s door when she fainted. By the time she came to, several hours later, the