Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

Cursing myself for my stupidity in being stuck out there, I turned away again and made my way as quickly as I could down to the lowest level, where I found myself out in the open fields beyond the outer walls and obliged to make my way completely around one quadrant of the massive building on my right.

I hurried to the best of my impaired abilities, hugging close to the wall and throwing my lame left leg in front of me to achieve the greatest reach with every step, knowing that on the other side of the high walls beside me, the greatest moments of my life might be unfolding. I ignored the serried ranks of troops that stood and sat out there, the foot soldiers double spaced and every mounted trooper holding the reins of a riderless horse, all of them no doubt wondering who and what I was. My mind was filled with conflicting and chaotic images, among them visions of my Uncle Varrus and the large, parchment filled books in which he had written his recollections of Grandfather Caius and his dream of unity and freedom and greatness in this land; a dream in which the people of Britain would survive the chaotic fall of Rome's corrupt Empire to emerge victorious and strong at the end of all. And then abruptly, unexpectedly, I reached the entryway into the theatre and stopped there, abashed and suddenly afraid to enter.

As I stood hesitating, a raindrop hit my face and I looked up fearfully at the sky. But there were no storm clouds that I could see, and off in the distance, a solitary patch of blue held out the promise of a weather change. I walked into the covered entranceway and stopped again, listening, unable to believe the stillness of the thousands within. Then, faint and indistinct in the distance, I heard Enos's voice. I moved forward slowly until the voice was clearer, and soon I was standing at the top of the long, central aisle. In the distance, within the sanctuary itself, the bishops began to chant the Creed again, their united voices sonorous and majestic as they intoned the magnificent words: Credo in unum Deum...

Some ten paces ahead of me, blocking my view, a solitary acolyte stood alone in the middle of the aisle, holding a long pole surmounted by a cloth wrapped cross, symbolically proclaiming the presence of the Christ to any who might seek to enter at his back. As I saw him, I remembered who I was supposed to be this day, a Christian bishop, and with an unexpected resolve, I knew what I must do. I pulled my cowl well forward over my head and approached the acolyte, tapping him on the shoulder and gently taking the long pole with its cross out of his hands. He saw only a bishop and relinquished it without demur, stepping aside to let me take his place. Then, holding the staff before me as I had seen him do in our procession, I walked slowly down the long, wide aisle towards the altar, the majestic voices growing clearer as I progressed. I came to a halt only when I had approached within thirty paces of the sanctuary. In all that progress, no one had paid me the slightest attention. They simply took me for what I appeared to be.

Behind the altar, facing the assembled throng, Arthur was seated in a curia, a backless chair with curved sides and legs; his arms were stretched along its arms, his hands gripping the ends loosely. His voluminous cloak was spread behind him so that he sat completely within it, its front lower edges gathered and draped over his knees to hang down to his booted feet. Within the opening of his cloak, the enamelled metal of his cuirass gleamed dully. He appeared at ease. I could see that his forehead was discoloured where he had been anointed with chrism and the ashes of burnt palms, so the ceremony had been largely completed, hence the singing of the Creed. As the massed voices of the bishops faded into silence, Enos turned once more to face the crowd and stepped forward, glancing at me as he did so.

"In the earliest days of Rome," he began, using his command voice, "in the time of the great Republic and long before the excesses of the Empire, it was the custom for the exploits of the very bravest of the brave to be rewarded by the granting of a military crown, a corona. There were five such crowns, each one awarded for a different, specific deed of valour, but each and all of them acknowledging and marking championship and heroism. The men who won and wore those crowns were champions and heroes, and none who saw them doubted them. All people knew them, publicly."

He paused and looked around the enormous gathering, his eyes singling out faces in the throng, then moving on again. No one moved, and he continued, lowering his voice.

"None of those crowns was awarded for horsemanship or cavalry exploits, for Romans had no cavalry in ancient times. And none, we know, were awarded in those ancient times before mankind's Redemption, for the guarding of God's Holy Faith." He paused again. 'Today, we have no Romanness in us; we are Britons. Yet it seems appropriate to us, your bishops, that a champion and defender of our faith should bear some signal mark of honour. And so we have adopted this one gift from ancient Rome, we have reinstituted the corona. "

As he spoke these words, Silvanus, the Bishop of Lindum, accompanied by Bishop Junius of Arboricum and Declan, the Bishop of Isca, stepped forward. Silvanus bore Tressa's embroidered cushion with the gold crown lying on top of it, and each of the flanking bishops swung thuribles that billowed clouds of heavy, aromatic incense from the glowing coals they contained. They stopped behind Arthur's chair, and Enos walked back to join them, taking the crown and standing directly behind Arthur, holding it poised high above the young man's head so that everyone could see it.

"This is the corona of God's Church in Britain. Marie well the Holy Cross upon its upper brim: in hoc signo vinces; in this sign shall you conquer. " He glanced down at the young man's head, then raised his voice strongly. "Arthur Pendragon, scion of kings, chieftains and other noble men, will you accept this crown and all its burdens, humbly and as befitting God's anointed choice?"

Arthur sat straighter. "Yes, my Lord Bishop, J will, " he answered in a deep, strong, vibrant voice. Enos lowered the crown closer to his head.

"And will you undertake the lifelong task of serving God in strict commitment to His Holy Will, attending the protection of His Church and all the followers of His Divine Son, Jesus, the Christ?"

"I will. "

Enos lowered the crown onto Arthur's brow and removed his hands.

"In hoc signo vinces, " he said again. "In the name of the Eternal and Almighty God, and of His Only Begotten Son, Jesus the Christ, and of the Holy Spirit, we pronounce you Riothamus, High Chief and Spiritual King of all Britain;

Defender of the Faith; Rex Britanniorum, King of all Britons. Stand. "

As Arthur rose to his feet, the silence was palpable; one mighty, hard held breath. I felt my throat swell up with pride and love, and tears came to my eyes. But this was not yet over. There were people here, among this crowd, who would have loved to protest this that had been done, yet dared not, at this time and in this place. Even without looking, I could sense that there were kings about me who were finding little joy in these proceedings.

Enos stepped back and nodded to two of his bishops who had been awaiting his signal. They moved forward immediately to flank the new Riothamus, each of them taking one of Arthur's forearms in both hands and leading him forward, one on either side, with great solemnity until the young king stood directly behind the altar, facing the congregation. There they left him, each taking two paces backward as Enos moved forward again, amid clouds of precious incense, to stand beside Arthur. He grasped the young king gently by the elbow, then guided his arm, extending it until Arthur's hand rested on one arm of the purple covered cross. Enos nodded and indicated to Arthur that he should place his other hand on the opposite arm. Arthur did so; this had been rehearsed. Enos stepped slightly aside and raised his voice again.