The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (42 page)

‘Dear God!’

‘Have I shocked you, darling?’
Arthur couldn’t look at her. ‘Do you believe me now?’

‘I – I suppose so.’

‘Do you really and truly?’
‘Yes.’

Margot threw back her head and laughed
delightedly. ‘Then you are even more naïve than I took you for!’

He shook his head in
confusion. ‘Are you saying it was all lies?’

Margot thrust out her lips.’I
do so hate that word. It’s so gross. Not lies, Arthur – fibs. Call it porkies,
if you like. Uther always did.’

He was bewildered. ‘I’ll never
understand you. Why put me through all this torment?’

Margot clapped her hands. ‘Did
I do that? Darling heart, how wonderful! You’re jealous! So you do love me
after all.’ Before he could stop her, she was standing on tiptoe, arms round
his neck, whispering in his ear, ‘Take me, Arthur. I want you, I want you.
Let’s do it now. I’ll sit astride you.’

He could only stare at her in horror.

‘Any way you want. Quickly,
quickly.’ She seized his hand and tried to pull him to the sofa.

‘In the name of God, Margot,’
he cried, ‘I could never touch you again. Don’t you know that?’

She shrank from him as if he
had struck her. Her eyes narrowed angrily. ‘It’s not about me at all, is it?
It’s about that tart Guinevere. She’s got to you. What a fool you are! What a
gullible fool! You have no idea what she’s like. She puts herself about all
over town. Fucks anything that moves.’

Arthur shook his head incredulously.

‘You didn’t know?’ Margot was
screeching now. ‘Don’t tell me you thought that mealy-mouthed bitch was for
real? All that mincing and simpering? You’re not that naïve, surely?’

‘Good-bye, Margot.’

She reached out her arms to
him. ‘Don’t go. Don’t leave me now.’

But he was gone.

Through the window she watched
the car headlights sweep round the cobbled courtyard, down the avenue of plane
trees and out into the main road. Long after the sound of the engine died away,
she was still standing there.

In the darkened drawing room Igraine sat
smoking a cigarette. The dim light from the night sky filtered through the net
curtains. A few moments earlier, as Arthur’s car drove off, its headlights
roving the façade of Brackett Hall, the room had lit up for a second or two,
then plunged into darkness again. She had listened intently to the hum of the
engine as it faded into the night. That sound, dying into silence, had left her
feeling inexpressibly alone. If only he did not have to go; if only he could
have stayed. If only things had been different. In her desperation she
convinced herself that she would never see her son again, that he would be as
dead to her as Elaine was now.

She switched on the table lamp
by the sofa. This would never do. She could not sit in the dark forever. She
would have to face the world, live her life, see people, make journeys. She had
loved and hated a man. But then love and hate were Siamese twins, bound heart
and heart, head and head, body and soul. One could not survive without the
other.

What would her future be? It
was ironic. When she was married there were so many things she dreamt of doing
and never could, so many times she had longed to have her life back. Yet now
that she had, she had not the least idea what to do with it.

Part Three

Destiny
Fulfilled

 Uther’s death had left the New Millennium
Party in disarray, partly because there was no obvious successor, partly
because details of his corrupt dealings were inevitably leaked to the Press.
The fallout affected all parties to some extent, though chiefly New Millennium
who had been in power more than fourteen years.
Four Years Too
Long
and
Time
For
A
Change
were the buzz-phrases of the
day. The last general election had been in 2020. Had he lived, Uther would
no-doubt have called an election sometime in 2025, but any delay was now
unthinkable. Both opposition and electorate demanded an immediate election
which was duly called for the earliest possible date, September 2024.

Arthur spent the morning of
the election with his aides and helpers at Party Headquarters. As the early
results came in things were looking good, the polls forecasting a landslide
victory for United Labour. Around mid-morning Arthur felt a slight prickling
sensation in the palms of his hands, and as he scratched them, the prickling
became progressively more intense. Quickly he excused himself and rushed down
the corridor to his office.

Perched in Arthur’s ‘in’ tray,
Virgil opened an enquiring eye as Arthur entered the room, hooh-hooed a soft
greeting and went back to sleep. Merlin was standing by the window admiring the
view. ‘The Palace of Westminster, Big Ben, Parliament Square, Westminster
Bridge.’ The magus considered Arthur, a hint of mischief in his bright eyes.
‘You are going to miss this view. From Number 10 all you can see is Downing
Street.’

Arthur sat at his desk and scratched Virgil’s
chest. ‘I’m not there yet,’ he said.

Merlin took a seat facing him
and beamed fondly. ‘Ever the cautious one.’

‘You think I’m making a mistake, don’t you?’

‘You must go where your
conscience leads you,’ said Merlin quietly.

Arthur swivelled his chair and
looked across at the soaring towers and turrets of the Palace of Westminster.
‘If we win the election, I shall be Prime Minister of the country where
parliamentary democracy was born. I should dearly like to see a truly United
Kingdom again. And then . . . ’, his eyes dreamed over, ‘a united world.’ He
turned back to face his mentor. ‘Is that so impossible?’

‘Nothing is impossible if good
men do what must be done,’ said Merlin, green orbs glowing.

A rueful smile from Arthur. ‘I
know what you expect of me Merlin, but I still believe my way is the right way.
I agree with you that the world is in mortal danger; what we don’t agree on is
what to do about it. It is still my hope that all our problems can be solved by
peaceful means.’

‘And if they can’t?’

‘If force has to be used,’
said Arthur, ‘then it must be used in the name of all the democratic countries
of the world.’

For a long time the faint hum
of traffic in Parliament Square disturbed the silence. ‘I doubt that will ever
happen,’ said Merlin. ‘Ask yourself why, more than twenty years after the
trauma of 9/11, the terrorists are still winning the war.’

‘In my opinion there are two
explanations,’ said Arthur. ‘Firstly, instead of being united, the democracies
are divided by self-interest.’

‘And you think you can
persuade them to work together?’ ‘I really think I can,’ said Arthur
confidently.

Merlin looked unconvinced. ‘Secondly?’

‘Secondly,’ continued Arthur, ‘politicians make
promises they know they can’t keep. Why? To impress the electorate and win
votes. And with an eye on those same votes they pay terrorists to kill someone
else in some other country, any country but in their own. Sometimes, in the
short term, it works, sometimes it doesn’t; in the long-term it never does.’
Arthur swivelled his chair and looked down at the statues lining the square.
‘We are now paying a heavy price for the selfishness and shortsightedness of
yesterday’s world leaders.’ He turned back to Merlin. ‘Unless things change,
tomorrow’s world leaders will pay an even heavier price.’

‘That, I fear,’ said Merlin,
‘is a condition, like human nature, that no one can change – not even you.’

‘It has to change,’ said Arthur. ‘We cannot
afford to fail.

Fortunately I shall not be working alone.’

The raised eyebrows of the
magus asked the unspoken question.

‘If I do become Prime
Minister,’ said Arthur, ‘I shall be far more supportive of the United Nations
than my predecessors.’ Merlin looked deeply sceptical. ‘If the nations are
divided,’ he said, ‘how can the organisation that represents them be united?
The UN can only be as effective as the world allows it to be. In practice it is
manipulated by hundreds of special interests, each with their own ideologies,
religious beliefs and agendas.’

‘What alternative is there?’ asked Arthur.

Merlin reached out a hand.
Virgil hopped onto it, and from there to Merlin’s shoulder. ‘I think you know
the answer to that.’

‘Camelot?’

The magus gave the slightest of nods.

‘In a democratic world people
ought not to take the law into their own hands,’ insisted Arthur.

‘If they don’t,’ said Merlin,
‘there will soon be no democratic world.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Arthur. ‘I don’t
know. I only know there ought to be a better way.’

Merlin bowed his head in
defeat. He had tried and lost again. ‘I pray you find it,’ he said as he and
Virgil faded.

By evening it was clear that
United Labour had won the election by a huge majority – over a hundred and
fifty seats. At the age of twenty-nine Arthur Pendragon had become the
country’s youngest Prime Minister since William Pitt.

Barely two months after the election the world
was shocked by horrific satellite pictures of thousands of men, women and
children massacred in the eastern region of the Kingdom of the Euphrates,
formerly Iraq. With its huge oil resources and geographically strategic
location, the K.O.E. was again one of the foremost powers in the Middle East,
its ruler, Sadiq el Shaeb, even more brutal and ruthless than Saddam Hussein.

In the days following the
massacre, its full horror was exposed by the world’s media; exact figures were
impossible to obtain but it was estimated that between fifty and a hundred
thousand people had died, struck down by some kind of chemical or biological
attack. Suspicion naturally fell on Sadiq as the tribes inhabiting the eastern
regions of the country had never accepted him as their leader.

The United Nations deplored
the massacre. There was almost unanimous condemnation by world leaders, and a
general consensus that something ought to be done. Unfortunately no one could
agree who was responsible, nor how they should be punished, nor who would
punish them. Arthur talked by Satellink with Winslow Marsden, the President of
the United States, arguing that the democracies would have to agree on joint
action.

‘And get dragged into another
quagmire?’ said Marsden. ‘No thank you, Arthur. Bar Israel, we don’t have a
real friend left in the Middle East, now that most of the old feudal families
have been overthrown by the Islamists. The mullahs might not like Sadiq, but if
it comes to a showdown with the west they’ll support him. If we interfere,
we’ll get our ass kicked, just like we did when we invaded Iraq in 2003.’

‘We have a moral obligation to
help the oppressed,’ said Arthur, ‘whoever and wherever they are. We go to the
aid of the sick and the starving, why not the victims of brutal dictators? If
the democracies ignore mass murder, what kind of future is there for the
world?’

Winslow Marsden was not overly
impressed by appeals to his conscience. It was not that he didn’t have one, he
liked to do the right thing whenever he could. It was just that doing the right
thing meant doing what was best for his country. ‘Frankly, Arthur, I have more
immediate concerns than the future of the world. My first duty is to protect
the people of the United States of America. Face facts. We attacked Iraq in the
nineties . . . half a million men and Christ knows how many tanks and aircraft.
And what happened? He was still there at the end of it, and stronger than ever.

‘Ten years later we attacked
him again. OK, he wasn’t as much of a threat as we thought, but at the time we
were convinced we were doing the right thing. What happened? The Iraqis turned
against us. We lost American lives, and we lost our moral standing in the
world. Was it worth it? Was it hell! Two years after we pulled out, Iraq was
run by another dictator. No, Arthur, we’ve learned our lesson, and by God we’ve
learned it the hard way. There’s a limit to what even the greatest power on
earth can do.’

Arthur was resolute. ‘We can’t
let Sadiq get away with mass murder.’

‘What do you suggest we do?’

‘Take control of his airspace,
fly in a small, high-tech military force, secure the eastern region and take
Sadiq, dead or alive. Then we send in an international team to set up field
hospitals, take care of the wounded and help get the area back on its feet. The
vital thing is for the free world to take joint action.’

The President gave the suggestion some thought.
Then he shook his head. ‘Sorry, Arthur, the American public would never go
along with it. They’ve seen their boys come home in body bags once too often. I
have an election to fight next year.’

‘We all have elections to
fight,’ said Arthur. ‘We also have to fight for what we believe in.’

Winslow Marsden did not
appreciate being told where his duty lay. ‘Look here, Arthur, I don’t like this
situation any more than you do. It’s a mess but it isn’t our mess. Let’s leave
it to the people of the K.O.E. to deal with.’

The President would not be
swayed. Arthur had lost the argument, and he knew it. He spoke to more than
twenty world leaders in Europe, Asia, North and South America and Africa, whose
reaction was much like the President’s. Everyone was shocked by the massacre
and no one could agree what to do about it. Again and again the same comment
was made; fighting terrorism was one thing, invading another country was
something else. Arthur vented his frustration on his cabinet. ‘What sort of
future do our children have if we turn a blind eye to such a horrific crime?’

Thomas Winnington sighed. ‘It
may seem short-sighted to you, Prime Minister, but the electorate is more
concerned with taxes and jobs and pensions than they are with the K.O.E.’s
problems.’

‘My father used to say things
like that,’ said Arthur. ‘Since when did you become so cynical, Thomas? You
were one of those who criticised Uther for his weak foreign policy, weren’t
you?’

‘I was,’ conceded Winnington.

‘Then what has changed your mind?’

‘I can’t speak for the
others,’ said Winnington, ‘but I was a backbencher then. Now that I’m a cabinet
minister, I have to be a realist.’

Arthur struggled to control
his impatience. ‘But don’t you see, Thomas, that’s exactly it. Being a realist
means confronting men like Sadiq.’

‘With respect, Prime
Minister,’ said Leo Grant, Chairman of the Party and Arthur’s greatest friend
and supporter in the cabinet, ‘it is a first principle of international law
that no one has the right to interfere in the internal affairs of another
country. Even leaving aside such legal considerations, Thomas is right – we
have to be realistic. If we launch a strike against Sadiq, we risk starting a
war in the Middle East, perhaps even a world war. Is that what you want?’

Arthur was close to despair;
if his own colleagues were against him, who would be for him? ‘For God’s sake,
Leo, don’t you see? The greatest risk is doing nothing. If we do nothing we’ll
be telling all the terrorists and terror states in the world that it’s alright
to kidnap and hijack and bomb. Taking them on involves risks, of course it
does, but ignoring them will make a third World War inevitable. And the next
war will be a global war, more devastating than any war in history. There will
be no borders, and no distinction between friends and enemies – only mass
destruction and millions of deaths – billions perhaps. It will be Armageddon.’

There was a meaningful
rustling and shifting of paper, and a number of knowing glances exchanged
around the table. Even George Bedivere, his old friend and comrade, would not
look Arthur in the eye as he summarised the cabinet’s view. ‘I think you are
exaggerating the actual risk posed by terrorists, Prime Minister. Of course
they make life difficult for us, but do they actually threaten the stability of
the state? I don’t think so. At least they haven’t done so yet. Our job is to
find practical solutions to practical problems.’

‘Then,’ said Arthur, ‘in the
name of our suffering fellow men, women and children across the globe let’s do
it.’

For a while no one spoke. Then
Thomas Winnington said, to nods of approval, ‘We were not elected to put the
world to rights.’

The following day the K.O.E. Foreign Minister
gave the United Nations his country’s official explanation of the massacre: the
warlike tribesmen in the East had long planned an attack on the peace-loving
Kingdom of the Euphrates. In preparation for this attack they had stockpiled
huge quantities of biological and chemical agents. A fire had broken out in
their secret depot, releasing deadly poisons into the atmosphere. The rebels
had been killed by their own weapons.

Despite the world’s
scepticism, the story could not be disproved. Sanctions were debated in the UN
after a peace- keeping initiative was voted down by the Security Council, but
even on this topic no agreement was reached. A few countries offered the
surviving victims humanitarian aid which was immediately refused by the K.O.E..
There were the customary vehement protests by Human Rights groups, and soon the
world had forgotten what had happened. But not Arthur. ‘The man is literally
getting away with murder. Mass murder.’