Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

I had been holding up my hand to silence him for some time, but only now did he pause and look at me. When I was sure that he would say no more, I smiled and nodded.

"I have a question for you, now, and it's one I have never asked you before. Do you trust me, Arthur?"

"What kind of foolish question is that? Whom else could I trust in all the world if not you? Why would you even trouble to ask me?"

"I ask because I want you to engage that trust and bear with me in this. " His face fell, and I continued. "But if you have a single, tiny suspicion in your mind that I might ever do anything that could endanger or belittle you or what I believe to be your God sent cause, then tell me now, and I'll accept it and say no more about the sword. " He shrugged his big shoulders, mute. "Good, then two things more I'll say: I swear to you that no man watching the event will laugh, or will feel aught but awe and wonder. On my oath, I swear that to be true, Arthur. No man, or woman, will think less of you for what you will have done, and none will recognize the sword. You may doubt that, within yourself, but you have my oath on all of it. "

"Hmm. " He was grinning again, his endearing sense of mischief back. "Was that one thing or two you just told me?'

"It was one. The other is... something different in its meaning and structure. " He had caught my hesitation, but held his peace, waiting for me to find the words I sought. Finally I nodded. 'Think of this as a personal wish granting, from you to me. When you have pulled the sword and know that what we did is right and proper and appropriate in every way to what we intend, then I would like you to do something else, for me alone. You may think it strange, but it will cost you nothing. "

"Name it, and it's done. "

I drew a deep breath and released it in a sigh. "When once you hold the sword, Arthur, before the assembled crowd, and are convinced you hold it thus by right, I would like you to strike the blade against the stone—hard—and then reverse it, holding it straight upright in one hand only, with the pommel's end pressed against the stone. As you know, I won't be there, in public view, but I will see you do that and accept it as a signal that your trust in me has been vindicated. Will you do that?"

"Aye, I will, of course I will. " His face was troubled. I knew that he had difficulty with my desire to keep myself away from people's eyes and idle stares, but we had talked of that long before, he and I, and he had accepted my wishes, albeit with reluctance.

"My thanks for that, then, and for not asking why. Now I must find my bed, and you should, too. "

I felt relief, although it was tinged with guilt, for I had extracted his promise fully conscious of a small deceit in this discussion. Arthur thought the sword he was to draw out of the stone on Easter Day would be his own, and so it would, but it would be Excalibur. And so long as he remained in ignorance of its existence until that moment, he would be as stunned by the sight of its magnificence as every other person present that day. In consequence, I had continued to conceal my secret as guardian of the sword for far, far longer than I had dreamed I might.

We walked in silence, then, until the crumbling walls of the town drew near. As we entered the gates and passed the first of the dilapidated buildings, I saw guards in unfamiliar colours standing before its door.

"Who are those people?"

"Cheric's, I think. He's one of the kings from the far north, the district to the east of Derek's lands. But I may be wrong. The kings are gathering, and not all of them have made their presence known to me yet. A full score have arrived since yesterday, each with his own retinue, and there may be more to come. Not all the bishops have arrived, and many of those are travelling with their local kings."

I grunted. "We have a mighty flourishing of kings in Britain nowadays. In my father's time, you would scarce have found a single king in all of Britain—not by that name, at least—save for Uric Pendragon. Has Brander come yet?"

"Aye, he arrived today and is quartered with Connor, Donuil and Shelagh, and ha father, Liam Twistback."

I glanced at him sidelong. "Did he bring Morag with him?

"No, not this time. He came directly from his Isles at Donuil's summons." He smiled. "Brander, at least, is one king I can trust to stand at my back without growing envious."

"He's not from Britain and he is your uncle," I said. "Does it disturb you, then, to have so many kings so close about you?"

Arthur laughed. "So close? No, I prefer them close. That way, I know what they are doing. They are all men, with men's weaknesses. But there are some I enjoy mote than others. We have leaders here, too, from among the Christian Anglians. You knew Cuthric is here, didn't you?" When I nodded, he continued. "And there's one more king whose presence might amuse you: Retorix, the new king of Cornwall."

That startled me sufficiently to bring me to a halt. Retorix, Arthur told me, had finally grown tired of Ironhair's excesses, his posturing and his fundamental cowardice, and had abandoned him and his designs. Since then. Retorix had emerged as the most able independent leader in all of the far southwest, and had assumed the leadership of all the clans of that much brutalized territory. I listened, then shook my head, accepting what he told me with no more than a disbelieving grunt.

"Well," Arthur said, a few paces later. "Here we are. It's not palatial, is it?"

I gazed at the darkened, decrepit house I shared with Enos and some of his bishops. "No, it's not the Villa Britannicus, but it has almost half a roof intact, the walls shut out the wind, and it is warmed by the hot air of argumentative bishops. " I faced him again. "What will you do now, when you leave me here?'

He glanced at his shadowy escort. "Sleep, I suppose. There's not much else to do. " I smiled, remembering the roistering times I had enjoyed here twenty years before, in the makeshift tavern we had called the Carpe Diem.

"Well, it is Lent, " I murmured. "A sombre time of year. The bishops would look disapprovingly on open taverns on the very night the Christ hung bleeding for our sins. Sleep well, lad. Tomorrow night, you must stand vigil by the altar all night long, and the next day, you will be crowned High King. So have a deep, sound, restful sleep tonight. "

He stepped close and I felt the warmth and love of his embrace, in spite of his unyielding armour. I stood by the door until he disappeared from view, flanked by his Pendragon shadows.

There was no one in the large room adjacent to the entranceway when I looked in, but a fire burned brightly in the brazier and the air was bright with the radiance of at least a score of the fine, waxen candles that were the prerogative, it seemed to me, of clerics. In one corner, the sleeping pallet used by Bishop Enos lay neatly, its pristine condition indicating that he, at least, had not yet returned that night. The entire house was silent, and so I entered and crossed directly to the fire, where I stretched out my chilled fingers to the flames, feeling the phantom tingling they produced in my burned left hand, and looked about me.

The furnishings were Spartan, purely temporary and all portable, for this house had lain abandoned for decades, occupied only by rodents and insects. There was a scattering of folding chairs and tables, all of diem brought to Verulamium on the pack mules of various bishops, and a number of sawed logs that served as seats whenever Enos held a meeting here. Other than that, the room was empty and bare. Its upper walls were constantly veiled in darkness, since the skylight opening that once admitted light had been sealed up and boarded over sometime in the distant past. The lower walls, which now glowed in the candlelight, were of a honeyed, earthen colour that had faded unevenly; they were stained now with creeping dampness in places, but they must once have been quite beautiful. The floor had been swept since we arrived, and perhaps even washed; its mosaic tiles were clearly visible in spots, but the ingrained dirt and dust of years had obscured its colours.