Page 59 of The Quest for Excalibur
*
Word about thesword had indeed flown around the fortress. Every warrior, with his wife and grown sons, and many of the tradesmen– among them the blacksmiths, wheelwrights, tanners, potters, and weavers, who lived in the fortress, had crammed themselves inside the hall, despite the summer’s heat. As a concession to comfort, the slaughtered, well-grown bull calf prepared for the feast had been cooked outside, and only when ready to be served had the servants carried it into the Hall.
I sat beside Arthur at the high table in my new gown. I’d had Cottia’s daughters, the finest seamstresses in Din Cadan, make it for me out of the bolt of gold damask silk that had made a precarious seaborne journey to Din Tagel, all the way from the eastern end of the Middle Sea. Perfect for the heat of summer, it clung to me like a second skin to the waist, then widened in a sweeping skirt that barely brushed the floor.
I’d persuaded Arthur, never keen on peacocking, to make a concession to the occasion for once. To please me, he’d donned a white silk undershirt topped by an indigo tunic edged with gold embroidery and cinched by a tooled leather belt. Around his neck he still wore his dragon-headed torc, and on his head he’d set the gold circlet of his crown, nestled in the curls of his freshly washed dark hair. He’d even rid himself of his customary stubble by shaving.
Before us on the high table lay the sword, out of sight of the chattering crowd, although a few had wandered this way on arrival, trying to snatch a quick glance.
In the body of the hall, the servants dodged between the packed tables filling goblets and laying out platters of meat and side-dishes. The babble of excited noise rose to the lofty rafters and the heat pressed in on me, making me thankful the cooking fire had been lit outside.
Beside me, Merlin surveyed the hall. “The goblets are nearly all filled,” he remarked, glancing past me at Arthur, on whose far side Cei and Coventina sat. “Time, I think, to make the announcement all are waiting for.” He gave Cei a nod.
My big, burly brother-in-law lumbered to his feet, towering over the Hall. He didn’t need to speak. Silence fell like a pall over the jammed tables.
At the head of the nearest one, Llacheu sat with his friends, eyes shining with excitement, one hand gripping the stem of his goblet. His gaze fixed on his father’s face, as though no one else existed in the hall, pride radiating from him like the rays of the sun.
But where was Amhar? I searched, scanning the joyful, rosy faces and not finding him. He must have known about the sword– everyone did by now. So where was he?
Cei cleared his throat, snatching my attention back.
“I think you probably all know what I’m going to say,” he said, beaming round at the sea of earnest, excited faces, all flushed with alcohol and heat. “Or if you don’t, you’ve had your heads up your arses all day.”
A chorus of laughter burst out, and a few men banged their goblets on the tables.
Cei looked at Arthur, his face as full of pride as Llacheu’s. “This is the man with the big sword,” he said, making a very lewd gesture that brought more gales of laughter. “You thought he was a big bloke before, but he’s bloody well-endowed now.”
More laughter, rising to the rafters.
“Want to see his sword?” Cei shouted above the noise.
“Get it out!” Chorused the crowd. “Show us your sword!” Their shouts could probably have been heard at the bottom of the hill. No, in Ynys Witrin.
With a wide grin, Arthur rose to his feet and held up his hand. He was a little tipsy, having knocked back several goblets of wine on an empty stomach. The shouts died away. He waited until silence settled on the hall again. “You want to see my sword?” His voice rang out across the expectant air.
“Yes!” they shouted back.
With his right hand, he seized the glittering hilt and lifted the sword, putting the blade to his lips. Briefly, he kissed it, then raised it high above his head, and shouted: “The sword of Macsen Wledig, Emperor of Rome!” His eyes shone, his face radiated joy and pride. “Excalibur! The sword of Arthur Pendragon!”
The room exploded with applause. Arthur turned to left and right, thrusting the sword higher and higher, and at last I spotted Amhar, standing at the back of the hall with two other boys, a heavy scowl on his face. The happiness slid out of my day. Why was he so angry at his father? What was wrong? I schooled my face back into a smile as Arthur sat down beside me and laid the sword on the table once more.
*
The noise fromthe hall crept over the wall into our chamber even though more than half the people had already staggered home, drunk. Someone was singing a haunting ballad, the chorus joined by a dozen drunken voices. They were getting maudlin now.
I stood still while Maia undid the laces down the back of my gown– an undertaking I wasn’t about to let Arthur try, especially not when he was drunk. It was the only silk gown I had, and I didn’t want him ruining it. As for him, he lay on his back on our bed, still wearing his boots and humming to himself, the sword on the bed beside him. He’d removed his tunic and belt.
My dress slipped off my shoulders and I stepped out of it, wearing only my silk knickers.
“You can come over here like that,” Arthur called, but didn’t get up.
Not likely. At least not yet. Instead, I slipped into a clean linen undershirt and, as Maia took my gown away to attend to, I brushed my teeth over the bowl of water she’d left me.
The sound of dogs quarreling carried over the wall, followed by a shout and a yelp as someone tried to separate them.
I approached the bed. He had his arms behind his head, propping it up no doubt so he’d had a better view of me undressing. How much more had he drunk? A flush colored his normally pale cheeks and his eyes held a twinkle of promise. I stood over him. “I think you’re too drunk.”
He smiled at me, that heart wrenchingly boyish smile he still possessed even in his mid-thirties. “You might be right.” He freed one hand and touched my thigh with his fingertips, caressing the skin.
