CHAPTER ONE

Taste: Strawberries (Arthur)

Why do strawberries remind the crown prince of his manservant?

As the winter weather was still icy cold, and the heavy snowfall made hunting difficult, not to mention dangerous, the court at Camelot found itself living off the storesof food that had been bundled into larders, cellars, and stillrooms in case of just such an emergency. Fortunately for the kitchen staff, enough venison and boar had been provided by the crown prince's autumn hunting excursions that the nobility and their servants were in little danger of going hungry. The grain cellars were packed full, to the extent that generous rations of wheat and barley were available to the people of the lower town, and summer berrying expeditions had provided large stores of wild berries from the nearby woodlands. Although cultivated strawberries were raised in the castle's kitchen garden, and in the quiet cloistered garden frequented by Camelot's noblewomen, Prince Arthur preferred the smaller, sweeter wild strawberries that could only be found growing in profusion in the forest during the summer months.

Apples from the orchard were stored in barrels of bran, to keep them fresh, but berries were usually dried for winter use. A favorite treat of the Camelot courtiers was berry tart, made with cream (when the cows were obliging enough to produce some) and dried strawberries. The crown prince was munching on one of these as he stood at his window, looking out over the heavy drifts of snow. He could see Merlin, his young manservant, and Guinevere, Morgana's maidservant, hurling snowballs at each other and laughing like children. They had set their baskets of food from the grain cellars on a snowbank, and were scooping up handfulls of snow with the glee of youngsters just released from hours of study with a strict schoolmaster. Old Gaius, the court physician, and the Lady Morgana watched from the sidelines. Arthur could see Gaius' shoulders quivering as he chuckled, shaking his head at the silliness of youth, and even Morgana, normally cool and aloof when in public, was smiling.

Arthur smiled, but it wasn't at the sight of the young people frolicking below. The strawberry tart was melting in his mouth, reminding him of the times he had dispensed with dignity long enough to join some of the royal household on their summer berrying expeditions into the forest. Uther never attended these outings, considering them beneath his notice, but Morgana often went, and several of the knights and ladies. Gwen accompanied Morgana, of course, and whenever Arthur joined them Merlin would naturally be in attendance. The little band of merrymakers would find a stand of berry bushes--preferably within a sunny clearing--and gather fruit to their hearts' content, filling basket after basket as they emptied bottle after bottle of wine.

"Merlin, why is it that your basket is half empty when everyone else's is full?" Arthur would say in exasperation, eyeing his servant's berry stained lips with a raised eyebrow and folded arms.

On other occasions, he would venture into the forest alone, that is alone except for Merlin, and the two would follow some narrow, barely discernible path into a tangle of shrubs and arching vines. They could pick other berries from brambly shrubs and tall stems, but the wild strawberries grew close to the ground, sometimes hidden beneath the leaves of other plants. Much smaller and more delicate than the cultivated variety, their flavor was richer, more intense, the true essence of summer. Arthur's most vivid memories of those days all involved the same thing: falling backward through thorny bushes onto some grassy hillside, the taste of strawberries in his mouth and his arms full of Merlin. A kind of frantic, passionate haste. And then afterwards, walking back to the castle, grumbling and pretending to be cross because of the lateness of the afternoon and the bramble scratches on his arms, but keenly aware of Merlin walking a proper two paces behind him, lips swollen, shining eyes downcast, absently humming a tune from some popular minstrel's ditty or troubadour's song. And keenly aware of the happiness that filled him almost to bursting as he turned around and snapped in his most authoritative tone of voice:

"Hurry up then, Merlin, we haven't got all day!"

Next chapter--Smell: Spices (Gwen)