The High King's Return: a Modern Tale of King Arthur

"Get out of the way, you cow!" A belligerent driver bellowed from a passing car. Several of the approaching cars veered away in an arc around her. There couldn't have been more honking without a flock of geese flying overhead. The woman, however, seemed to take no notice of them.

Tires screeched as an onrushing car slammed on the brakes. Inside the car, the driver had dropped his cell phone in surprise and was doing everything to keep from hitting the woman, but his small blue Ford Fiesta just skidded into her.

The car passed right through her as though she and the body of the fallen knight were no more than shadows.

"Did you see that!?" Several of the tourists exclaimed in astonishment.

The woman took another few steps toward the tourists, her lips molded into a hauntingly sad, pitying smile. She could have said that the High King had returned to save them, that they had all inadvertently killed the noble Arthur, newly returned to Britain in its hour of need, but she said nothing.

Gradually, the woman faded before them like double-exposed film as she walked past the astonished tourists and turned north, then disappeared completely, returning to Avalon with the body of the fallen King in her arms.

"Hey, was that some kind of a show?" The American man with the Southern accent started asking his wife. Several of the Americans who heard him and quickly came to the same conclusion abruptly began applauding. They started looking about for their own tour guide for an explanation. One of the American children yammered away something about a magical sword in a stone and a lot of nonsense about a fallen king, a king whom legends claimed would return to guide Britain in the time of her greatest need, but no one paid the boy any attention.

"What do you reckon that crazy Welsh bloke was trying to do, then?" Claire asked as the Americans continued to chatter away about the incident. "He was marching right up to Buckingham Palace as if he could go right on in!"

"Yeah, to have tea with the Queen an' aw!" Judy laughed mockingly.

"Who do you reckon he was, then, eh?" Claire wondered.

"Probably one of them magicians." Judy observed with a sagacious air. "Like that bloke David Copperfield on the telly."

"Oh yeah." Claire nodded agreement, her eyes alight with recollection.

"No, no, that was King Arthur!" the little American boy broke in, almost hysterical, his eyes glistening in distress. "That was King Arthur!"

"King Arthur?" Someone echoed in the crowd.

"Yes," the boy sobbed, "and now he's dead again!"

There was a general sharp intake of breath around him. Several people began to whisper after a moment.

"Now he’ll never save Britain," the boy sobbed harder.

"From what?" Claire wondered.

"We won’t know now." The boy said, sadly shaking his head. "Until it’s too late."

*note: the Welsh word Caladfwlch, or Caliburn, was the name of the magic sword of Arthur, rendered in Latin as "Excalibur".