Page 58 of The Quest for Excalibur
“Thank you, Con, for your part in this day’s work,” Arthur said, his hand resting on the sword’s beautiful hilt where it now peeked from his scabbard. “You are a good guardian of secrets, just as your grandmother clearly was, and I would like to reward you. If you wish, I can find you a farm nearer to Din Cadan, and a good strong girl to be your wife. You would be able to grow fields of wheat and raise sheep and cattle on good land. And children.”
Con, gone shy and self-conscious again, studied his grubby bare feet. “Thankee kindly, Milord, but I doan b’long there. I b’long here, wi’ my people. Wi’ my granny’s people. I makes a good livin’ here by fishin’, and wi’ me few sheep, an’ there be a girl I has my eye on. I’ll stay here if ’tis all the same wi’ you.”
Arthur nodded as though he understood. “Very well, but at least let me send you some more sheep. No, don’t protest. I insist. My seneschal will have them brought to the island for you.”
Con bobbed a bow, eyes remaining down. “Thankee, Milord.”
Having sent Con back through the woods to his village, Arthur and I walked back hand-in-hand to the monks’ wharf. Nial was sitting in the hot sun on the wooden jetty, bare brown feet dangling in the water, a rush basket of wriggling silvery-gray eels beside him.
“Good haul,” Arthur said, dropping down to sit on the jetty. “Takes me back to my boyhood.”
Nial grinned, his whole face crinkling with pleasure, as withered as an ancient apple. “Aye, I remember well the boy you were back then. Allus after me to take you out in my boat. You an’ that gurt big brother o’ yourn.” He chuckled. “Be he still that gurt?”
Arthur laughed back. “Bigger still. Hard to find a horse strong enough to bear his weight.”
“I’d best not tek him in my boat then, lessen he sinks it.” More laughter, from both of them. They could have been two friends in any time, sitting with a fishing rod beside a river, instead of a king and his lowly subject.
I stood behind them, staring out across the peaceful waters at the small islands, the banks of rushes and the stunted trees, now clear of all but the last shreds of mist. A heron took off and flew across the sky, the beat of its wings ponderous and prehistoric. Amongst the rushes, small waterfowl bobbed in and out, and twenty yards away a fish leapt.
At Arthur’s side the hilt of his new sword drew the light, as though greedy after its long incarceration. Deep inside me a tiny nub of anxiety hatched and grew. A sword is a strange chimeric thing– part beautiful object to be admired and cherished, part dangerous weapon and life-taker. And Arthur didn’t need it for its beauty. He needed it for its baser function. If this was indeed the time he needed Excalibur, then Camlann must be drawing closer.
I swallowed down my fears and stepped nearer, my fingers brushing his hair.
“I could sit here all day,” he said, his voice soft and dreamy. “And never fight another battle.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You must presentthe sword in the Hall tonight,” Merlin said, eyes alight with excitement as we three stood in the royal chamber. “Everyone needs to see this. And we’ll need to let the other kings know you have it.”
“Must?” Arthur said, one eyebrow raised.
Merlin frowned. “Should. Stop being pedantic. This is the sword you were destined to bear. The sword that will vanquish Aelle and his Saxons forever. The men need to see it.”
Arthur laid the sword on the table, where the candlelight flickered over the blade making it appear to ripple like water. “There’s no doubt about it. It’s a magnificent blade. I’ve never seen such workmanship.” He looked up and grinned at his old friend. “And it has a name, as any legendary sword should. Excalibur.”
I held my tongue. I doubted very much that Magnus Maximus had called this sword Excalibur. Could it be that the only reason it had that name was because I knew it from legend? That Nimuë, like her mother, had snatched that name from somewhere inside my head? If so, then I’d done it again. Made history out of a legend. Now this sword was named after itself, just as I was. Confusing.
Merlin ran a fingertip along the blade and the light seemed to move before his touch. Did it recognize the magic in him? The same magic Nimuë possessed. “A good name for a truly beautiful sword. And a deadly one.”
Arthur smiled. “As a sword should be.” But his eyes held no mirth. Was he remembering the men he’d killed with his other sword, and the many men who’d died fighting by his side? Was he thinking of the men lying in his future, whose blood this new sword would drink? I remembered his reflective words as we’d sat on the dock at Ynys Witrin. Could a warrior king like him ever find peace, or was he destined to fight until the day he died?
The door from the hall banged open, and Llacheu almost catapulted into the room, eyes alight with excitement. “You’ve got it?” he blurted out. “The sword of Macsen Wledig?”
As one we turned to face him.
“How do you know?” Arthur demanded, more than a little on the defensive.
Llacheu halted in front of his father. “Tulac had it from one of the hall servants. They overheard you talking.” He was panting.
“No secrets from servants,” Merlin said, grimacing. “It’ll be all around the fortress before tonight.”
“In less than an hour, you mean.” Arthur sighed. “That rather forces my hand.” He stood aside. “Here it is.”
Llacheu stepped up to the table and stared, wide-eyed, down at the magnificent sword for a long moment, his shoulders rising and falling with his fast breathing. At last, he spoke. “The sword of an emperor.” He turned to his father. “Theemperor.” He must have learned his lessons in Roman history from Merlin well. “Does this meanyou’llbe an emperor, too?”
Arthur laughed uneasily. “I have no military ambitions beyond Britain. I’m a patriot, not an empire builder. Prince Macsen left this sword for someone, for his heir, and that’s turned out to be me. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be following in his footsteps, nor those of Constantine.” He glanced at Merlin. “Both were foolish to follow their too greedy ambitions and take their warriors overseas. It only brought them failure.” He touched the blade. “I aim to use this sword for defense, not attack. This is the sword that will save the kingdoms of Britain from our enemies.”
Prophetic words. A shiver ran down my back. I’d helped him to this sword, and with it likely set him firmly on the road to Camlann’s bloody end.
