Arthur

PROLOGUE

Vortipor! Foremost in corruption, supreme in spite! A pig with its snout sunk in the entrails of its rival is not swifter than you to suck down iniquity. Your wickedness flows from your smoke-filled hall and inundates the land in a vile flood of wrongdoing.

You call yourself noble. You call yourself king. You call yourself exalted. Exalted in sin, perhaps. You have wreathed your head with laurel, but this is not deserved – unless men now bestow the laurel crown for immorality, at which you are a champion among men!

Urien Rheged! Your name is a reproach. Fornicator! Adulterer! Chief Despoiler! Pillar of Impurity! The lowest vermin in your refuse pit is not lower than you.

Chief Drunkard! Chief Glutton! Defiling all you touch. To you is given the depravity of ten, the iniquity of a hundred, the perversion of a thousand! Your chancrous body is bloated with your corruption. You are dead and do not know it, but the stench of your corpse rises to heaven!

Maelgwn! Great Hound of Gwynedd! How far have you fallen from your father's high position. Maelgwn the Tall earned his stature through righteousness and virtue; you steal it from his memory. Is it possible that you have forgotten all that you once knew?

You have seized the kingship by murder and rapine. For this you call yourself Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty. You think to wrap yourself in another man's glory, but it has become a shroud of infamy to you. Pendragon! May eternal shame devour you for your presumption.

Yet, there was once a king worthy of that name. That king was Arthur.

It is the paramount disgrace of this evil generation that the name of that great king is no longer spoken aloud except in derision. Arthur! He was the fairest flower of our race, Cymry's most noble son, Lord of the Summer Realm, Pendragon of Britain. He wore God's favour like a purple robe.

Hear then, if you will, the tale of a true king.