The Audition.

“This is not how I understood the terms of the Artisan in Residence agreement, Malory!” declared Little Plump Jo.

When she had signed the agreement she had been under the impression that as Artisan in Residence in Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin for Arthurian Studies she would be able to live rent free in the cabin for the time it took her to write her books. From the cabin porch she would have a prime viewing position for the legendary events being played out in the Fog Lake below the cabin (which was fed by the Arthuriana Stream). All she needed to do in order to write an epic retelling of the legends relating to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table was to record the actions performed by the characters in the Fog Lake. She had been feeling confident that she would be able to write something, maybe a novel (or even a trilogy), maybe a collection of short stories or brilliant, sweeping, epic poems, which could make a valuable contribution to Arthurian literature.

But as she was explaining to Malory now, during their editorial session, that was not at all how the circumstances had evolved. Malory was concerned about Jo’s lack of progress. He pointed out to her that she was surrounded in Cloudbank Cabin by examples of the wonderful classic literature, art, music and films that had been created in this setting. He implied that if she could not also produce a worthwhile contribution, maybe her Artisan in Residence opportunity should be given to someone else.

Malory Tennyson actually had no intention of evicting Little Plump Jo. He just wanted to provide strong incentive for her to keep writing. The reason that Malory tolerated Jo’s dithering, procrastination and inept writing was that he was able to communicate with her. For the hundreds of years that Malory had owned Cloudbank Cabin and hosted the various Artisans in Residence he had not, until now, been able to be heard by any of them. This time was different because Little Plump Jo had brought her writing companions, the five overexcitable Dabrowski Dogs – Intellectual, Psycho Motor, Sensual, Emotional, and of course, Imaginational. As dogs hear a different range of sound, they could hear Malory, in his dimension, ranting about what colour hair a character should have. The Dogs were able to communicate Malory’s wishes to Little Plump Jo. Malory believed that, given enough time, Jo would be able to retell the Arthurian epic tales exactly as he required them to be told.

As it turned out, the Dabrowski Dogs could also communicate with the Arthurian characters in the Fog Lake. Now the characters were all starting to make demands about the way their particular story should be told.

Merlin had turned up in the Cabin expressing surprise at the lack of security; but stating that maybe, as Jo was such a powerful wordsmith, able to create physical contact between the literal and fictional dimensions; something he had previously believed impossible, maybe she did not need to have guards posted at her door. He approved of the description Jo had written for him. Rather than a wizard in a starry robe with a ridiculous owl perched on his hat, Jo had shown Merlin as a Renaissance man, a scientist and inventor before his time.

“Malory Tennyson told me about you,” Merlin said. I did not believe it possible until I saw Imaginational talking to Lancelot.” So Merlin had started to require the Dabrowski Dogs to run errands for him.

“I am quite concerned about Lancelot.” Merlin said. “I know that he has only a few doses of his herbals left. I wrote him another script but he did not get it filled before he left. He is a very bright young man. But he can be a bit push on the pull door at times, if you know what I mean. And he really has not fully accepted that, unless he is healed miraculously, he will need to take the herbals for the rest of his life. Anyway, I was wondering if one of your dogs could take his herbals to him?”

Soon it was not just Merlin who wanted Jo to write revised stories and required the Dabrowski Dogs to run errands. As it turned out, Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, was a helicopter foster parent of the first order. She arrived bringing a sack of warm woollen undergarments and a pouch full of herbals for Lancelot.

“I forgot to put these in with the three shields I sent to him with Seraide” she said. “I know Merlin has prescribed herbals for him. But it is my opinion that he also needs these supplements. We had quite a debate about it. Could one of your dogs take these to him and not let Merlin know about it?”

“But that is only the start of it, Malory!” Little Plump Jo complained. “Now not only do I have characters getting the dogs to run errands for them, but I also have characters wanting me to tell their story in a way that is flattering to them. I have some refusing to enact their assigned roles, like Elaine the Fair, Elaine the Lovely, The Lily Maid of Astolat. First she did not want to be the one to nurse Sir Lancelot for months and then die of unrequited love. So she announced that she was now The Lady Charlotte-Elaine, The Lady of Shalott and Entrepreneur Owner of Charlotte’s Web Weaving. She had me chasing after her scribing her new adventures and confusing every other character’s plot lines. Then she announced, belatedly, that she still loved Lancelot and wanted me to write about her as a composite character of herself and the Princess Elaine of Corbenic, daughter of King Pelles. I had to tell her she had burnt that bridge already when she claimed that Bernard of Astolat was her father. So now she is wearing a cheap tiara and has put gold highlights in her hair. She is trying to be a Queen Guinevere look alike. I am not sure where her scheming will take the story next.”

“Then I have Sir Bors yelling at me because he can never work out what part of the story is happening now. It turns out he is the one who has to make sure that his cousin, Sir Lancelot, turns up to do the heroic deed at the right time.”

“I know,” sympathized Malory. “Bors is a big man and can be quite intimidating! He bellowed at me too, when he thought you had let Lancelot die in the poplar grove. He wanted me to oust you from Cloudbank Cabin.”

“And now” continued Jo, “I have Dagonet, the Jester, wanting to be the main Narrator for the whole epic which would mean making a lot of changes. And that led to a whole host of other characters, some with unpronounceable Celtic, Saxon or Viking names, wanting to be included too.

I don’t know how you chose which stories to include, when you gathered stories from all over the place for The Morte d’Arthur, Malory! But some of these characters I have never seen in your stories. That may be because I don’t read stories about characters with those types of name. But I just don’t know what to do with all these voices demanding me to tell their story.”

“I propose that we audition them,” barked Intellectual Dabrowski. “Get them all to come to The Fog Lake and state the case for their inclusion. You can choose which ones you want and Malory Tennyson can have the final say.”

A few days later there they all were – thousands upon thousands of them - filling the Fog Lake and scattered amongst the wisps of fogs clinging to the moss green trees on the mountains surrounding the lake. There were petty kings of the Britons with their entourages, Roman centurions and cavalry, Celtic clans in their clan colours, with their torcs and arm rings, woad covered Picts, Saxons, Vikings, the Pope, monks, hermits, Druids, the people of Avalon, and an assortment of horses, dogs and mythical creatures.

The characters who had appeared in Little Plump Jo’s writing were already seated inside Cloudbank Cabin.

“Go out onto the porch and wave to your subjects, Arthur!” Malory Tennyson said.

And Merlin added “Take a good look, Lancelot. See the extent of Arthur’s influence. Be very careful never to do anything which could disrupt this one brief shining moment!”

“I would never intentionally do so!” Lancelot mumbled, looking down at his feet.

As if on cue a brash young man came bursting through the door of Cloudbank Cabin. “I am Medraut, or Mordred as some know me, son of King Arthur and his sister, Morgan le Fay. I am the rightful heir to the throne of Camelot. Why have I not been given a place of honour inside the cabin?”

“We were hoping to ignore your existence!” yelped Psycho Motor Dabrowski, who often barked before he thought.

“Little Plump Jo will not need all these people,” observed Intellectual Dabrowski. “I will go out, restore order, and dismiss most of them. I shall round up likely characters and send them up to the cabin.”

Intellectual could be heard barking orders.

“Thank you for your attendance. If you are here as part of a clan, or contingent and have not previously been mentioned by name in any Arthurian writings you are dismissed now.” The crowds melted away, vanishing like wisps of fog rising to the clouds. Intellectual surveyed the remaining people and creatures. He herded them into groups. In some cases he selected a spokesperson for the group and dismissed the others. There was quite a bit of grumbling, as those being dismissed felt their pride was offended. Some of them argued that they had a superior historical claim. Intellectual felt sympathy with them but gave the advice that Cloudbank Cabin was owned by Malory Tennyson and the characters that he favoured would be the ones included.

Inside the cabin the prospective characters were presented to Little Plump Jo and Malory Tennyson.

“Uther Pendragon and Igraine - parents of King Arthur Pendragon, Duke Gorlois – husband of Igraine, Morgause and Morgana – relatives of some sort, Morgan le Fay – half-sister of King Arthur and mother of Mordred.”

“ King Lot of Orkney, his sons Gawaine, Agravaine, Gaheris, Gareth.”

“Sir Kay (or Cai or Key) – foster brother to King Arthur and seneschal of Camelot.”

“Sir Bedivere (or Bedwyr) – replacement for Sir Lancelot for authors favouring an historical setting. Responsible for returning the sword Excalibur to the Lake.

And so it went on. Some characters were accepted straight away, others told they would be notified in due course.

“I think maybe I will sit out this time,” declared Lancelot. “I have not recovered from the previous retellings yet. You may fare better without me.”

“No, I must insist that you participate!” said Malory.

“Why?”

“Why, you ask. I propose a hypothetical. Queen Guinevere hosts a dinner. You are away from court. Sir Patrise dies during the meal after eating a poisoned apple intended for Sir Gawaine. Queen Guinevere is charged with murder and needs a champion to fight for her cause. King Arthur cannot fight for her and everyone present at the dinner believes she is guilty. Let us ask- who would fight for her? Gawaine?

“ No that apple was probably for me because Queen Guinevere does not like the Orkney brothers.”

“Sir Kay?”

“No because if I defended her it would look as if the apple came from the kitchens which are my domain and that I was in collusion with her.”

“Sir Bedivere?”

“No, she is guilty!”

“Even if you were acting as understudy for Lancelot?”

“No, she is guilty! That is all there is to it.”

“Sir Bors?”

“No, I believe she is guilty.”

“What if King Arthur and Queen Guinevere begged you?”

“In that case, I would say I accept, unless a better knight came forward and I would go and get Lancelot to do it.”

“There you see, your character is essential and that is just how it is.”

Intellectual Dabrowski bowed to the assembly. “I hope you have found this audition helpful,” he barked at Little Plump Jo.

“Not particularly! Now I have even more characters seeking to be included in my retelling. How do I know which ones are going to request modifications or want the dogs to run errands for them? This is not what I signed up for!”