The Sorcer part 2: Metamorphosis cc-6
Page 48
"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.
"It is done. Here, on the sacred stone of God's own altar, before the eyes of God Himself and all of you as witnesses, this man, Arthur Pendragon, Rex Britanniorum, has undertaken, on the brightest day of all God's Christian year, to bring a new beginning to all our lives so that we may live in openness and brotherhood, unafraid of persecution or invasion. It is a mighty task he faces—"
Arthur, amazingly, interrupted him. "Sir Bishop, may I speak?" The Bishop bowed his head graciously, and the new King faced the crowd, frowning slightly before drawing a deep breath and beginning in a voice that quavered very slightly on the first few words but strengthened rapidly as he progressed. His fingers flexed visibly on the arms of the cross, and I had the clear impression that he was leaning on it, drawing strength from it.
"Bishop Enos has said I face a mighty task, and I believe I do. But I also believe the task is achievable, given that I have the support and the goodwill of all of you, here today and throughout this land. " He paused, and allowed the silence to grow and stretch. "I know that some of you think me far too young to take on this responsibility, both sacred and temporal. I know, too, that some of you resent and fear my seeming elevation at this time. I hope to change all that in time, convincing you that none of you—no king, no chief, no warrior, need fear for his possessions or his territories while I rule in this land. You heard the Bishop name me Riothamus: spiritual King—God's Champion, Defender of the Faith. That is what I wish to be, and that is how I intend to govern. I have been taught, my whole life long, by all my teachers, many of whom are here today, to be morally aware, and I shall strive to continue thus. This one more, extra oath, however, I will give you willingly, here on God's altar. I solemnly swear that while I live and rule, no person, woman, man or child, regardless of wealth, rank or station —shall suffer wrongly at the hands of others without redress by me. My rule will be the rule of law, with God's help and with yours. "
I found myself smiling and blinking away tears, my throat choked with pride and love of this magnificent young man, whose integrity permitted him to say such things spontaneously, with sincerity and utter conviction. Enos stepped forward again.
"So be it! Alleluia! It is done and all praises be to God. Jesus is risen and the world rejoices. Now might we pray to Heaven for some sign, some symbol of God's Blessing and His Light." And as he spoke, the clouds above parted and a single beam of golden, shimmering light struck through the darkened air to illuminate the sanctuary. The crowd drew in its breath with a collective gasp of religious awe and somewhere behind me a woman began to weep, her sobs loud and racking.
Arthur, meanwhile, standing by the altar, was peering about him, seemingly unaware of the significance of this truly Heavenly sign. It took me several moments to realize what he was doing. He had had the signal from Enos, with his closing words, "God's Blessing and His Light," and now he was casting his eyes about the sanctuary, looking for the stone that should contain his sword. Enos leaned towards him and murmured in his ear and Arthur looked at him, amazed and obviously confused. The old man nodded, and Arthur reached out once more, tentatively this time, towards the cross upon which he had sworn his oath. About to grasp it, he hesitated again and looked to Enos for another affirmative nod before he closed his fist around its upright. Then, as his fingers felt the rounded hilt beneath the covering purple cloth, he relaxed and began to draw the sword slowly up from the recess beneath the altar, and yet again a hush fell over the assembly as they saw what he was doing.
Months earlier, I had personally chiselled out the slotted hole that held the cross, widening it until it would accept Excalibur's broad blade. When Arthur had found me on Good Friday night beside the altar, I had just completed the substitution of the sword for the cross that Enos had placed there earlier that day in the sight of everyone, before draping it in the purple cloth. I had used my dagger blade to punch out the wooden plug that had been glued into the table, directly beneath the wide slot in the stone so carefully aligned that day by Enos in preparing the altar, and then I had tucked the golden cross into my scrip and slipped Excalibur's long blade down through the stone and through the wood beneath it, to rest upon the floor, concealed from view completely by the long, white altar cloth. When it was there, securely and secretly in place, I had rearranged the drapery of purple cloth so that none could tell it had ever been disturbed. I had been on my knees, finding and pocketing the tell tale plug of wood, when Arthur had called my name that night.
Now Arthur was withdrawing it, the focus of all eyes, including mine. Higher he drew the blade, and higher still until his arm was straight before his eyes, but only then did he look down at the blade itself. And as he saw the shining silver blade emerging where he had thought to see his own plain, iron blade, his whole face, illuminated by the sunbeam's light, was transformed with reverent but overwhelming awe, and he quickly lowered the sword back into its recess and released it. The cloth draped itself again about the cruciform hilt.
Enos reached out and placed his hand between Arthur's shoulders, pushing him forward again, and once again the new crowned King reached out and grasped the hilt. Then, steadily and steadfastly, he drew the gleaming blade completely free and raised it above his head, its flawless beauty glittering in the light of the sunbeam.
Someone at the back of the gathering began to cheer, and the noise swiftly spread to become pandemonium. Quickly then, Arthur reached up with his other hand and pulled away the cloth that had concealed the hilt, and then he held the sword aloft, brandishing it and gazing up at its perfection with a glowing smile of joy upon his face while people leaped to their feet and the whole place went mad with joy and wonder. I stood gazing up at him, tears pouring down my cheeks. Moments later, he looked down and
saw me and his face split into a great, white toothed, laughing grin as he whipped the sword downward, whacking the blade against the altar stone and reversing it to press the pommel against the stone itself.
The song of the sword leaped out like a living thing, swelling from nothingness to ringing, deafening purity in an instant. People flinched away from the stunning, vibrant sound of it. Arthur, startled anew to feel the thing vibrating in his hand, lowered it quickly and the blade touched the altar cloth, killing the sound at once. Brief, however, as the ringing tone had been, it had penetrated every space in the theatre, producing instant, shocked stillness. Arthur straightened up, his wide eyes locked upon the weapon in his hand. I moved closer to him, uncaring where I was or who saw me.
"Do it again, Arthur, and this time, hold it there and let it sing. "
Slowly, he raised the blade again, then, with every eye in the place fixed on him, he brought it sweeping down and struck the flat of it against the altar stone. This time, when the thrilling note sprang forth, none flinched, but merely gaped in awe. For ages, then, it seemed, Arthur held the hilt in place until the ringing tone died slowly into silence, and just before it faded completely, he raised his eyes and held his arms spread wide, the glowing, gleaming blade extended so that all could see it. Then, in a gesture that not even Germanus could have conceived of, for all his genius at such things, Arthur replaced the sword securely in the altar stone and left it there, now an obvious sword hilt, magnificent and ornate, black and gold and silver, crowned with a perfect, golden cockleshell, and with a broad, silver white blade that sank into the stone itself.
For long moments he stood there gazing at it, and then he raised his head towards the crowd again and asked them to be seated. When they were, listening intently for what he would say, he told them, without artifice or plaint, what we had learned that morning: that an invasion had begun, and might be massive, and that he must ride to deal with it immediately, today. He asked them to remain in place while all his troopers left, then asked the kings to reassemble here within the hour, at which time he would tell them of his plans and answer as many of their questions as he could. Then he nodded to Tertius Lucca, who gave the signal to dismiss the Camulodian troopers.
The new King's men, however, were not to be dismissed until they had made their contribution to the day's events. Someone, far at the back, began to chant Arthur's name, and it spread like fire in summer grass, sweeping the whole assembly until the very walls shook with the sound of the King's name. In the face of their acclaim, Arthur drew Excalibur from the altar stone again and brandished the shining blade three more times above his head, at which their voices rose to a thunderous roar. Then he turned about and walked away, carrying the sword, to the rear of the sanctuary, where he disappeared behind a screen. The troopers were still chanting his name as they left, and it took some time for all the others to file out behind them.
I found him later, when the crowds had dispersed, gazing at the sword, its shining blade a handbreadth from his eyes.
"It's called Excalibur, " I said. "Your great grandfather made it, sixty years ago, and it has been waiting in concealment ever since then, until you came of age to claim it.
Now it's yours, and there is not another like it in existence. Here's a sheath to hold it, made by me, and very recently. " I handed him the leather scabbard I had prepared, and he nodded in acknowledgement but made no move to sheathe the blade. "There's a tale behind the name, of course, " I said, smiling at his reverent admiration of the weapon's magnificence. "Behind the making of it, too—several stories, in truth. I'll tell them all to you as soon as we have opportunity to speak. "
He was still rapt. "Excalibur, " he whispered. "It sings on the tongue... What does it mean? Do you know?"
"Oh, aye, I know. It means, for one thing, that Britain has a King like none other before him. And it means the King of Britain has a sword all men will recognize and covet, given as it was in light and majesty from God's own altar stone before the eyes of a multitude of people. That much it means, and more. It was your great grandfather's gift to you, unseen, unknown, but dreamed of in a dream he shared with my grandfather... "
"Excalibur. " He slid the long blade reverently into the leather scabbard. "You knew it could sing, of course. Did you not?"
I grinned at the question. "Of course I did. Why would you even ask? Or did you suspect me of sorcery at God's own altar?"
He grinned back at me, and as his eyes fell again to the beauty of the weapon's hilt, I cleared my throat.
"Have you spoken with your aunts today?"
"No, I have not had time, but I saw them out there, in the crowd. I'll go and see them now, I think. "
"You're a real king now, lad. Riothamus. Rex Britanniorum. High King of all Britons. "
He grinned at me, somewhat ruefully, I thought, and shook his head. "I think not, Merlyn. Not yet. I have the name, and the responsibility, and I have all the duties of a king, but I still have to earn the support of those whose king I'm supposed to be. The kings who saw me crowned today, for example. I have to meet with them now. Within the hour, I told them. That meeting could be... difficult. And right now, I have to face all my men and tell them that we have a war to fight and win. I wish you could still ride and fight, Merlyn. I'm going to need your counsel. "
"That will be yours in perpetuity, lad. I have not lost the ability to think, scheme and advise. You do the fighting, I'll do some of the thinking, you handle the deciding, I'll look after the advising, and together, we'll change this country so that you may do the ruling the way it should be done. Shall we agree to that?"
"By God's love, we will!" He smiled and threw wide his arms to embrace me. We stood close for a long moment, until he spoke into my ear. "Walk out to greet my army with me now, will you Merlyn? They are still yours, you know. Not all men fear or distrust you. "
I thrust him to arm's length, gazing into his eyes.
"I'll come out with you, gladly, but not for acclaim. It suits me now to live the life I live, to be the man I am today. It is my choice. This time is yours, and all of the acclaim is due to you. "
He nodded. "Very well. But will you wait, outside, till we are set to leave, and see me on my way?"
I smiled without answering and laid my right arm over his shoulder, starting him towards the door. Aye, that I will, and willingly, lad, I thought, but did not say, as I walked beside him in my borrowed bishop's robes. I'll see you on your way to glory.
And there, hours later, in the fields outside the great theatre, that is precisely what I did. Standing beside Shelagh and Ludmilla and Turga, and surrounded by his relatives and friends, I watched Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain, pull himself easily up into the saddle of his huge bay and spread his wide, red and gold cloak over its rump before he stood up in his stirrups and unsheathed Excalibur. The great silver blade flashed in the sun's brilliance as he waved it above his head, so that I became light headed from looking up at it and had to close my eyes and breathe deeply, standing blind among the uproar of his joyous army as they cheered themselves hoarse shouting his name.
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First published in Viking by Penguin Books Canada Limited,
1997 Published in Penguin Books, 1998
1 35 79 108642
Copyright © Jack Whyte, 1997
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her's note: The Sorcerer: Metamorphosis is based in part
on actual events, but all the principal characters are fictional.
Manufactured in Canada.
CANADIAN CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION DATA
Whyte, Jack, 1940-
The sorcerer(A dream of eagles; v. 5) Contents: bk. I. The fort at river's bend —
bk. II. Metamorphosis.
ISBN 0-14-025467-6 (bk. I)
ISBN 0-14-027026-4 (bk. II)
I. Title. II. Series: Whyte, Jack, 1940- . A dream of eagles; v. 5.
PS8595.H947S6 1998 C813'.54 C95-932786-X PR9199.3.W58S6 1998
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