The Horn

A free short story

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Ba-BAAAA!

I hate that bloody horn, I really do.

B-b-b-BAAAA!

You were probably imagining a beautiful, clear, strong sound, echoing through the valleys and hills. A sound filled with confidence, with power, a call to action. Tally-ho! Up and at ‘em! Arise! Sorry to disappoint you. Think of the first time a kid picks up a trumpet and tries to play it. It’s more of a wet fart than a note. It’s certainly not anything you’d call music, or inspiring.

Ba-B-

The sound breaks off.

“C’mon, everyone, let’s go!”

Oh, shut up, Arthur, you infuriatingly cheerful dickhead. Some days, I could punch that guy in the face. I’d chop his damn head off if it’d do any good. I mean, we all did our time as heroes already. We fought, we struggled, and, in the end, we won.

When it was all over, those of us who’d survived were looking forward to a well-earned reward. Nothing extravagant. Just feasting, sitting quietly by the fire with our wives and our children and our dogs, growing older and wiser, listening to stories of our deeds that grew outrageously with every telling. And most importantly, no more battles, no more adventures, no more crazy quests.

But Arthur wasn’t ready to give up being a hero. He wasn’t interested in going home and living to a ripe old age. It wasn’t like he had much of a family any more anyway, not after what Gwen did to him. We tried telling him to go find himself a new wife. After all, there were plenty of princesses around who’d throw themselves at him given half a chance. Some of them were pretty good looking too. But, no. Mister Lovesick Puppy didn’t want anything to do with any of them. Didn’t even want to look. Just wanted to hide himself away and mope. Which, okay, I get it, but then he had to drag the rest of us into it.

None of us wanted to do it. But he reminded us we’d taken a sacred oath to obey him, and we had no choice, so… the twelve of us followed him right into that cold, dark mountain. We each got a little cave of our own, with a stone bed, and a place to hang our sword and armor. And… that was it. Not even a comfy chair or a candle. Hardly the luxurious retirement we’d been hoping for.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Owain.

“Now, we sleep, until we are called,” answered Arthur. Pompous prick. And then he literally went into his cave, took off his armor, lay down on his lump of stone, cuddling Excalibur as if it was a baby, and went straight to sleep, leaving the rest of us standing there staring at each other.

Oh, yeah, Excalibur. I hate the sight of that thing. That’s the other reason why we’re here. When the final battle was over, Arthur was supposed to give it back. That was the deal. He gets the magic sword, defeats the forces of evil, saves the kingdom, and then throws it in the lake for the next hero. But when it came to it, he just couldn’t do it. Or wouldn’t. So the Lady told him okay, you can keep it, but whenever the world needs another hero, you’d better be there. Well, that suited Arthur just perfectly. He got to keep his precious sword and be a hero forever. Which would be fine, except he had to go one step further. Right there in Camelot, he held Excalibur in one hand and his warhorn in the other, and declared, in front of everyone, that if ever there was danger, at the sound of the horn, he and his companions would ride out.

Huh?

His companions?

Well, that was a surprise. He hadn’t asked any of us, of course. Or even told us we were going to be part of his crazy scheme. He just assumed we’d follow along with whatever he wanted to do. And, like I said, he was the king and we had sworn an oath, so there wasn’t much we could do or say.

So that’s how we ended up under this mountain. Bored. Arthur slept through it all, thanks to some magic potion he hadn’t shared with the rest of us. We can’t leave unless we’re called, so we just sat there, in the darkness, wide awake, for year, after year, after year, slowly losing our minds. We told each other stories until we couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then we plotted ways to murder Arthur. Tried some of them too, but they didn’t work. None of us can die in here.

I do have to admit it was quite fun at first, riding out and saving the kingdom every few decades. It made a nice change from our daily routine, and it was something to do. But after a while, it stopped being fun. Some of the kings and princes were pretty unpleasant people, and it stopped feeling like we were saving the kingdom. We were just helping out whatever entitled dickhead had managed to seize the horn, like some sort of supernatural mercenary force. Arthur should have been a little more careful when he made his deal with the Lady.

Anyway, at some point, in the middle of that whole Catholics and Protestants thing, the horn got lost. Well, more accurately, it got hidden, and then everyone forgot where they hid it. And then, after another couple of centuries, they all forgot it even existed. Which, to be honest, was rather nice. We had a bit of peace and quiet, and we managed to miss some of the bloodiest and nastiest wars the world has ever seen. And frankly, now that you’ve got tanks and machine guns and flying machines and bombs, there’s not much a bunch of old guys with beards and swords can actually do.

We were actually quite happy. Every time we rode out, we each brought back a few odds and ends. Books, board games, lights, even some furniture. After one of our excursions, Gareth brought back a couple of puppies. They can’t die either, as long as they stay in here. They’re cute - and they don’t need to go to the toilet. We also discovered that jars of food and drink magically refill themselves, so we now have endless beer, wine, bread, cheese, jam, pickles, potted venison, cake, and so on. Not that we need to eat or drink, but, well, we enjoy it. As afterlives go, it could be worse.

We’d pretty much forgotten about the stupid horn, so it came as something of a shock when it sounded again. Of course, Arthur bounded excitedly out of bed, pulling his armor on and shouting encouragement. The rest of us sat there dumbly, trying to make sense of everything. Armor’s pretty complicated stuff, and if you haven’t worn it in five hundred years, you forget even the basics. This strap goes there, this one goes there, but… oh, you have to put this piece on first, that’s right. And as for wielding a sword… this was going to get embarrassing.

As it turned out, swords and armor weren’t much of an issue. You see, the problem with hiding things and forgetting about them is that you never know who’s going to find them.

When we got there, they were arguing. Bickering, rather, like teenagers always do.

“Oh come on, Sue, it’s my turn!”

“No, Colin, I found it.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have been able to reach it if I hadn’t given you a leg up.”

“Yes, but…”

“WE ANSWER YOUR CALL, MY LADY. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE US DO?”

Arthur had a pretty impressive voice, I have to give him that. The children stopped and stared, openmouthed.

“You what?” the boy managed.

“You have sounded the horn. Tell me, what danger do you face?”

The boy shrugged. “Ummmm…”

“Not you,” admonished Arthur. “It is the lady who summoned us. It is she who must speak.”

The two of them whispered for a moment.

“Well,” the girl said. “Mr Gibbons, down the road there, he’s got a pretty vicious dog. It’s probably dangerous.”

“A-ha!” cried Arthur, brandishing Excalibur. “A hellhound threatens your life, fair maiden? Fear not, my lady, we will slay it this very day!” And so, a few minutes later, the True-Born King of All England chopped an elderly labrador into little pieces while his owner watched in horror. Then we vanished before the police arrived. Hardly the finest moment of the Knights of the Round Table. But Arthur couldn’t see it. All the way back to the mountain, he boasted about his terrific battle with the beast. By the time he finally lay down to sleep, it had grown to ten feet tall, with three heads, eyes of flame, and teeth of steel. And somehow old Mr Gibbons had managed to grow horns, wings and a tail.

I wish I could tell you that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. Every few days, that damn girl would blow the horn, Arthur would bound out of bed excitedly, and we all had to gallop off after him. He couldn’t go anywhere without his entourage.

Ba-BAA!

“My bicycle’s got a flat. That’s probably dangerous. Would you pump it up for me?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Ba-BAAA!

“This light bulb needs changing. Could be dangerous round here in the dark.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Ba-ba-ba-BAAA!

“I’m hungry. Could you put this pizza in the oven for me? My mum says the oven’s dangerous.”

“Gladly, my lady.”

This went on for months. He couldn’t see he was making a total ass of himself. Those kids were laughing at him. We just stood around and watched helplessly while our fearless leader did household chores. Okay, and we also helped ourselves to a few odds and ends to make our cave a little more cozy. Socks and slippers. Tea. Cushions. That sort of stuff. But like I said, we were all ready to punch him. Or at least find some way to get that horn away from the girl.

As it turned out, though, it didn’t come to that.

“Can you carry my laundry up to my bedroom for me? Could be dangerous going up these stairs with a big load of clothes. I might trip.”

“To… to your chamber, my lady?”

“Well, duh. Where else?”

Arthur blushed, and followed her upstairs.

Oh, I finally realized. He’s in love.

When he came down an hour or so later, he was still blushing. And holding hands with the girl. The boy sat on the sofa trying not to giggle. Arthur unbuckled Excalibur and handed it to me.

“Here, Bed,” he said. “Take this. Throw it in the lake. Tell the Lady I’m ready for someone else to have it now. I’m staying here with Sue & Colin.”

“Umm, you do know she’s a kid, right?”

“Not any more,” he grinned. “Not since last week. She’s old enough to marry now. Anyway, she’s four years older than Gwen was when I married her.” I think that was the first time he’d spoken Gwen’s name in fifteen hundred years, so I guess that was a sign he was finally getting over her.

“What about her parents?” I asked.

“I am the King,” he replied. “They cannot refuse me.”

I shrugged. “You’d better give me the horn too,” I said. He nodded. Reluctantly, Sue handed it over.

Well, what else could I do? They seemed happy enough. And he was the king. Of course, I kept the sword and the horn. If we’d thrown it in the lake, we’d all have become mortal, and, like I said, we were enjoying a pretty sweet afterlife. And with the horn safely tucked away, there was no chance of anyone summoning us.

Gareth let out a big sigh, settled back in his armchair and put his feet up. “More tea, anyone? And who’s for a game of Monopoly?”

I got to be the hat.

Another of my stories about the afterlife. I’ve always wanted to write something Arthurian, but it’s pretty much been done to death. I played around with some of the Grail romances for inspiration, but nothing quite stuck. Then I tried to write something about what happened after Arthur died, but that turned into more work than I wanted to do. Eventually, I hit on this approach - what would it be like to be constantly summoned and being expected to rescue people?

British readers of a certain age will notice my little tribute to Alan Garner in there. (Missed it? Check the names of the kids.)

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