Ben Bova - Orion and King Arthur

“You could clear the land of the barbarian invaders,” I finished his thought.

This time he sighed unmistakably. “It’s a pretty dream, Orion. But only a dream.”

The ambition was there. He had the dream. But he needed the courage to make it come true. I could sense that he was longing for the daring, the tenacity, the strength to become the true leader of all the Britons.

Again Arthur fell silent, this time for many moments. At length, he spoke up again.

“That sword of yours,” he said, changing the subject because it was too painful for him to continue, “a sword such as that is a rare treasure, Orion. A man would travel to the ends of the earth to get such fine steel for himself.”

Like so much else, the art of steel had been lost when the Romans departed. In centuries to come the Celts would learn the art of fine steel-making, but that time was far in the future of these dark years.

“You could have taken my sword from me,” I said.

He laughed softly as he lay in his blankets. “I’d have to kill you for it, I wager.”

Lying on the ground a few feet from him, with the dying embers of our tiny fire between us, I replied, “Not so, my lord; I would give it to you willingly.”

It was too dark to see the expression on his face. The night wind keened above us like an evil spirit, cold and harsh, setting the trees to moaning.

“No,” Arthur said at last. “If I am meant to drive the Saxons out of our island, I will not do it with another man’s steel. I must have my own. Merlin prophesied that I would, when I was just a lad.”

He was hardly more than a lad now, yet this young man wanted to drive off the Saxons and other barbarians who had seized most of the coast of what would one day be England.

3

I dreamed that night, but it was not a dream.

I found myself in an emptiness, a broad featureless plain without hill or tree or even a horizon: nothing but an endless flat plain covered with a softly billowing golden mist stretching out in every direction to infinity.

Vaguely, I remembered being there before, in other lives, other eras. And, just as I expected, I saw a tiny golden glow far off in the distance, like a candle’s warm beckoning light, but steady, constant, without a flicker.

I began to walk toward it. I was clad as I had been when awake, in a simple tunic and chain mail. But my sword was gone. Except for the little dagger that Odysseos had given me during our siege of Troy, I was unarmed.

Something drew me to that beacon of light. Despite myself, I began to run toward it. Faster and faster I raced, legs churning through the ground mist, arms pumping, my lungs sucking in air. After what seemed like hours I was gasping, my throat raw, my legs aching from exertion. But I could not stop. I wanted to rest, but I was unable to stop. I was drawn to the light, like an insect obeying an inbuilt command.

The tiny distant glow became a golden sphere, a miniature sun, so bright and hot that I could not look directly at it. I raised my arms to shield my eyes from its glare, yet still I ran, racing toward it as if it were an oasis in a world-covering desert, a magnet pulling me with irresistible force.

At last I could run no more. Soaked with sweat, exhausted, panting as if my lungs would burst, I collapsed onto the strangely yielding ground, still blanketed with the perfumed golden mist.

“Are you tired, Orion?” a mocking voice asked. I knew who it was: Aten, the Golden One. My Creator.

The blazing bright golden sphere slowly dissolved to reveal him. He stood over me, strong and handsome: thick golden mane of hair, eyes tawny as a lion’s, perfectly proportioned body encased in a formfitting suit of golden mail.

He sneered down at me. “What is this madness you are engaged in, Orion? Where are you leading that young pup?”

I blinked up at him. His radiance was so brilliant it made my eyes water. “I thought you wanted me to—”

Angrily, Aten snapped, “You are not supposed to think, creature! Your purpose is to do what I instruct you to do. Nothing more. And nothing less.”

“But Arthur needs—”

“I will decide what Arthur needs, not you!” Aten snarled. “I want you to help him win a few battles, not take him on a foolish excursion through such dangerous territory.”

I bowed my head, my eyes burning at the radiance streaming from him.

“Arthur’s only purpose is to resist the Angles and Saxons well enough to force them to unite against the Britons. Then they will drive the Celtic oafs into the western sea and take the island for themselves.”

“But what will happen to Arthur?”

“He will be killed.”

“No!”

Aten’s voice hardened. “All men die, Orion. Only my own creatures, such as yourself, are revived to serve me again.”

“But Arthur…”

“He could make a nuisance of himself,” Aten said. “He could become too powerful. For the time being, I allow him to live. But that time will end soon enough.”

“And then?”

“Then the Angles and Saxons and other barbarian tribes will create a mighty empire, Orion. An empire that spans the globe and begins to reach out into space.”

“But can’t Arthur be permitted—”

“Stop pleading for him, Orion! Obey my commands. That is your destiny. Arthur’s destiny is death and obscurity.”

I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that I would not obey his commands, that I would help Arthur and save him.

But suddenly I was sitting on the ground at our forest camp again, soaked with sweat, breathing heavily. The first milky light of the coming dawn was just starting to filter through the tall trees. Arthur slept across the ashes of our dead campfire from me, as blissfully as a man without a care in the universe.

Should I turn back to Amesbury fort? Abandon this quest for a sword for young Arthur?

His eyes snapped open, bright and clear as the finest amber. He was awake instantly.

“How far are we from my sword, Orion?” he asked as he sat up, all youthful eagerness.

“Not far, my lord,” I replied. “We will reach the lake today.”

I couldn’t turn back now. I couldn’t disappoint Arthur. He trusted me, and I would not betray him, not even for Aten and all his haughty demands.

Yet I should have known that Aten would not willingly allow us to reach our goal.

4

The forest was like a maze of giant trees, their boles as massive as the pillars of a mighty cathedral, their thick leafy canopy so high above us that it was like a dark green roof that blotted out the sun. We had to walk our horses most of the morning, picking through the sturdy trees while birds whistled far overhead and tiny furred creatures chattered at us.

The ground sloped gradually downhill. We were nearing the lake, I realized, although how I knew about the lake and its location was beyond me. Something in my mind told me that we would find the sword for Arthur there; but just how and why—I had no idea.

The forest thinned out as we led the horses, but the underbrush became thicker between the trees. I saw a clearing up ahead, strong morning sunlight slanting through it, and smelled smoke. It was rising from a tiny thatched farmhouse.

Too much smoke. The farmhouse was afire.

“Saxons!” Arthur whispered, dropping to one knee as we peered through the underbrush at the scene in the clearing. I crouched down beside him.

A dozen men in long blond braids and steel-studded leather jerkins were laughing and whooping as two of their compatriots dragged a pair of screaming, struggling teenaged girls across the clearing toward them. A trio of bodies lay in their own blood before the burning farmhouse door: husband, wife, and baby.