Camelot: A Short Story

The warning bells of Camelot were clanging.

In the palace, there was panic, as armed men rushed down the halls.

"The prince! The prince is gone!" someone cried, and the words were echoed, the news spreading.

"The prince! We must find the prince!"

But it was too late. There was no trace of the little prince, or of those who had taken him.

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Celyn had been making his way back to his camp when he came upon the bandits. Seeing the light of their campfire, he stopped short, hidden in the trees.

He was just about to turn and make for the camp by another way – he had no interest in a confrontation with bandits – when he heard it: a small whimper.

"Shut that kid up, will you," One of the bandits snarled.

Celyn peered through the trees.

The bandit next to him laughed roughly.

"Don't you fret, little one," he cooed in a mocking tone, "You'll go home. As soon as your father pays the ransom."

"Or not," one of the other men laughed, "Why risk bringing the boy back and walking straight into a trap? If we sell him we can add to the profits we get from his ransom."

Celyn hesitated just for a moment, but he knew he couldn't just walk away. So he took a deep breath and stepped out of the trees and into the clearing.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he smiled, "I hope you're all doing well.

In an instant, every man was on his feet and facing him, drawing weapons.

"What do you want?" growled one, who Celyn assumed was the leader.

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation…" Celyn said, "It seems that child would rather not be with

We will all care for him of course, as we do all our children, but he will need to stay with someone. Who would be willing to foster him?"

A woman stepped forward, "I will"

Celyn looked at her, "Are you sure you want this responsibility, Anwen?"

"I think I am meant to have it," Anwen said.

Celyn was puzzled, "What do you mean?"

"Years ago, when my husband was still alive, I spoke to a Seer," Anwen said, "She told me that I would be given a child in an unexpected way. And that I should call him Arthur."

The little boy suddenly turned his head and looked at Anwen. He held out his arms to her.

Celyn smiled, "I think he likes it," he carefully handed her the baby, "Well then, Arthur it is."

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King Uther sat on his throne. He was so silent and still he might have been made of stone himself.

A knight entered the throne room. He approached the throne and bowed.

Uther's gaze flickered to him, but any brief flare of hope he might have felt died when he saw the look on the man's face.

"I'm sorry, Sire," the man said, "There is still no sign of the