The reason for two kingmakings? Simple necessity. “I am king of all, or king of none,” Arthur declared. “North and south have been separated too long. In me, they are united.” To prove his word he had himself crowned conspicuously in both regions so that neither could claim superiority over the other as had been done in elder times.
His kingmaking in Caer Edyn was all a prince could hope for. But his crowntaking in Londinium nearly incited a riot in that arrogant city. Alas, it was but the first of the troubles to come! Arthur, King of Summer, who bought peace for Britain with his own toil and sweat and blood, was not to know a moment’s peace himself.
Listen well, you dull of hearing. Heed the truth, you slow of understanding. Here is a tale worth the telling, a true tale, The Song of the Summer Lord. Hear and remember! This is the way of it:
* * *
Coming up from the Vale of Twide and Baedun, Arthur and the remnant of the Cymbrogi rode to Caer Edyn. High summer it was; the land full-leafed, green and golden, blue and clear the sky, calm the sea. The dark smoke-clouds of war had dissolved, and now only God’s pure Light shone upon Britain.
Of course, it would be some time before they realized this. All these battle-weary warriors knew was that the fighting had ended for the year. They did not know that Arthur had led them to their greatest victory; they did not ween it a victory for the entire world. They only knew there would be no more battles that summer.
Lord Ectorius feasted the victors at his table. Three days and three nights they tasted the firstfruits of peace. But even then Arthur’s spirit was being revealed. In the presence of his trusted Cymbrogi, our Lord the Christ showered his favor upon Arthur, and those around him marvelled greatly to see it.
On the shoulders of his warriors Arthur was borne out from Ector’s fortress and carried up to the top of the rock that now bears his name. There he was given to sit on a throne of living stone, and the remnant of his warband passed before him one by one and pledged their lives to him. The kings of Britain who had endured with him drew their swords and lay them at his feet; they stretched themselves upon the ground before him, and Arthur placed his foot upon their necks and became king over them.
The Cymbrogi, also, brought their spears and laid them down before Arthur. They knelt and stretched forth their hands to touch his feet and swore fealty to him upon their lives. He took them to be his subjects, and they took him for lord.
Myrddin the Emrys raised the rowan rod over him, and decreed Arthur High King. Then he spoke out the holy words of kingship saying, “All praise and worship to the High King of Heaven, who has raised up a king to be Pendragon over us! All saints and angels bear witness: this day is Arthur ap Aurelius made king of all Britons.
“Kneel before him, fellow-countrymen! Stretch forth your hands, and swear binding oaths of fealty to your lord and king on earth—even as you swear life and honor to the Father God of All Creation.”
When this was done, Myrddin bade Dyfrig, Bishop of Mailros, to come forth. He approached Arthur with a torc of gold between his hands, and called out in a loud voice, “Declare this day before your people the God you will serve.”
“I will serve the Christ, who is called Jesu. I will serve God, who is called the Father. I will serve the Nameless One, who is called the Holy Spirit. I will serve the Holy Trinity.”
“Will you observe justice, perform righteousness, and love mercy?”
“With Blessed Jesu as my witness, I will observe justice; I will perform righteousness; I will love mercy.”
“Will you lead this realm in the true faith of Christ so long as you shall live?”
“To the end of my strength and the last breath of my mouth, I will lead this worlds-realm in the true faith of Christ.”
“Then by the power of the Three in One, I raise you, Arthur ap Aurelius. Hail Arthur, Protector of Britain!”
And all those gathered on Mons Agned shouted, “Hail Arthur, Protector and Pendragon of Britain!”
Myrddin placed the torc of kingship around Arthur’s throat to the loud acclaim of all. Then Arthur passed among them, giving gifts to his Cymbrogi, and to the kings and warriors who served him in battle. He gave them gold and silver brooches, and knives, and rings with precious stones. These things other princes do upon their crowntaking; Arthur did more.
He decreed that the chapel burned by the Picti at Abercurnig should be rebuilt, and the abbey at Mailros. From the spoil of war he paid for this, and established a chapel near Mailros, in full sight of Baedun, to sing Psalms and sacred songs and pray good prayers for Britain perpetually, by day and night until our Lord Jesu shall return to lead his flock to Paradise.
Arthur took himself to the small holdings round about where women lived whose men had been killed by barbarians. To these he gave such gifts as were welcome: gold and silver to some, cattle and sheep to others; in all he provided for the widows through his lords that they should be cared for and their children raised without hardship.
Returning to Caer Edyn, Arthur and his lords sat together at meat and drink. It was here, when the company waxed joyful in celebration, that Myrddin Emrys stood up before all and called out, “Pendragon of Britain, may your glory outlast your name which will last forever! It is right to enjoy the fruit of your labor, God knows. But you would find me a lax and stupid counsellor if I did not warn you that away in the south men have not yet heard of Baedun and know nothing of your kingmaking.”
“Peace! I have only this day received my torc.” Arthur laughed. “Word will reach them soon enough.”
“But I am persuaded that men believe their eyes more easily than their ears,” Myrddin replied, and the lords slapped the board with their hands and voiced their approval.
“So it is said,” agreed Arthur. “What is your meaning?”
“Fortunate are the men of the north, for they have ridden beside you in battle and they know your glory. The men of the south will not be won with such news as comes to them in time.”
“There is little I can do about that, I think. A man may be made king but once.”
“That is where you are wrong, O King. You are Pendragon of Britain now—you can so order what is to be.”
“But I have already taken the crown here,” complained Arthur good-naturedly. “What need have I of another kingmaking?”
“What need have you of two eyes if one sees clearly enough? What need have you of two hands if one grips the sword tightly enough? What need have you of two legs if one runs swiftly enough? What need have you of two ears if—”
“Enough! I understand.”
“But it is not enough,” replied the exalted Emrys. “That is what I am saying.”
“Then tell me what I must do to quiet you, and you may be certain that I will do it at once.”
At this the lords laughed aloud and clamored their acclaim of Arthur and his Wise Counsellor. When they had quieted, Myrddin announced his plan. “Summon the lords of the south to attend you in Londinium and witness your crowntaking there. Then they will believe and follow you gladly.”
This is exactly what they did. They enjoyed their feast that night and at dawn the next morning up they rose, saddled their horses, and rode to the shipyards of Muir Guidan. They sailed that very day. Messenger ships raced ahead, stopping at settlements along the coast to announce the king’s summons.
In due time, Arthur arrived in the vicinity of Londinium, now called Caer Lundein, and ordered his fleet to be anchored on the Thamesis. Upon making landfall, he assembled his Cymbrogi, made his way toward the city, and came boldly to the gates.
As the Wise Emrys had foretold, the men of Caer Lundein and the south did not esteem Arthur greatly. They knew nothing of the great battle at Mount Baedun. Neither did they have a care for any northern trouble, holding the fortunes of life between the walls but a thing of small consequence. This is blindness and folly, it is true, but they were men of little intelligence and less understanding.
But Aelle and the lords of the Saecsen Shore, w
ho had not rebelled at Baedun, knew full well that Arthur was their rightful king. At Arthur’s summons, they assembled their house carles and their wives and children, and marched at once to Arthur’s summons—much to the shame of the Britons.
Still, the crowds of Caer Lundein, like crowds everywhere, love a spectacle. At Arthur’s approach they thronged the narrow streets and gathered on the rooftops of the ancient city, straining for a glimpse of the tall young man who paraded his subject lords before him.
“Who is he?” they asked one another.
“A Pict from the northland,” some answered. “Look at his clothes!”
“No, he is a Saecsen,” said others. “Look at his braid and his fair hair.”
“He rides a horse!” they said. “He is certainly this Arthur we have been hearing about.”
To which others replied, “But he is young yet. This must be that famous warrior’s son or nephew.”
On and on it went. No one could decide who it was riding into their city with his warbands and retainers. All they knew for certain was that they were seeing someone the like of whom they had never seen before, and never would again.
But not all who looked upon the fair stranger that day were pleased to see him. Far from it! Long had they forgotten the slim young man who had drawn the sword from the stone seven years before. They had forgotten the Council of Kings, and the strife which gripped the kingdoms of Britain and held them powerless.
They had forgotten, and so they reviled what they saw with their eyes. Does he think himself a Macsen Wledig riding into Rome? they demanded. Does he think himself emperor?
Who is he? Arthur? What kind of name is that? They say he has defeated the barbarians. Who has he defeated? There are Saecsens walking around Caer Lundein bold as day! Look at him! He is too proud, too arrogant! He is a pretentious oaf, and we will not be deceived by any northern conspiracy.
These things and more were muttered against Arthur, and some far worse. Arthur heard their mumblings, and though they stung him like the hairs of the nettle he was not deflected from his purpose.
“I see they have learned no love for me,” he said to Bedwyr riding beside him.
“Truth to tell, Bear, I have learned no love for them. Take the crown and let us be gone from this miserable place.”
Cai grew indignant. “How long do they think their precious walls would stand if not for you, Artos? Let the Picti have it and be done.”
“I have come here to receive my kingship in the place where my father took the crown. When I have done what is required, we will leave this place.”
Arthur was received by the governor of Caer Lundein, a fatty haunch of pork named Paulus, who viewed all the world beyond the portico of his palace as unbearably backward. But Paulus had not scaled the height of his ambition without learning the uses of deceit. So he welcomed Arthur, his round face wreathed in jowly grins, right hand raised in friendship, left hand grasping the dagger behind his back.
Governor Paulus only waited to see which way the wind blew to know how to deal with Arthur. A battlechief from the north country was an unusual sight in Caer Lundein. Dux Britanniarum, someone said—very impressive, very Roman. High King? Well, there were kings, yes; some were officially recognized. Pendragon? How charming, how quaint. Very rustic, in all; very refreshing.
Bedwyr was not misled by the fulsome governor’s effusive welcome. “He is a lizard, Artos. Do not believe a word he says. I would not drink a drop of his wine either, if I were you.”
“We satisfy the law in coming here,” Arthur told his retinue. “Nothing more.”
“What law?” wondered Cai.
“The law established when the Great Caesar first set foot on this island.”
“Which is?” asked Bedwyr.
“Every ruler must conquer Londinium if he is to hold Britain.”
“I have never heard any such law,” scoffed Cador. “What is so exalted about this crumbling heap?”
“It stinks of urine and slops,” sneered Gwalchavad. “From what I can see, the citizens of Caer Lundein are kin to barbarians.”
Arthur heard their complaints and explained patiently yet again, “We are not staying here a moment longer than necessary. Once I have done what I came to do, we are away for Caer Melyn.”
When they had supped with the governor, Arthur and his retinue left the palace precinct and rode to the church—the same in which Arthur had stood and divers times pulled the sword from the stone. That keystone was now firmly in place in the central arch. Hundreds of people passed beneath that stone every day without realizing it. To them it was just an ordinary block of stone in an ordinary arch.
This is how many men perceived the Kingdom of Summer. Since it did not wear its great goodness emblazoned in shining gold, they did not esteem it. They simply passed by without a thought or glance at the very thing which kept the roof from crashing down upon their stupid heads. They passed by and knew it not.
Upon reaching the church, which had been besieged by the Cymbrogi, Arthur was met by the Bishop Uflwys and gaunt Archbishop Urbanus. Both men were genuinely happy to see Arthur. They had heard from the monks who served with the Cymbrogi how Arthur had conducted himself honorably in war, and how he had given gold for the rebuilding of the ruined churches. They were pleased to welcome him and bless him, as was right.
Like Aurelius before him, Arthur shunned the governor’s palace and embraced the church. He lodged there until his crowntaking could be completed.
The great Emrys was already at work making the necessary arrangements. He had sent to Dyfed for good Bishop Teilo, the saintly Dubricius, and his young helper Illtyd. This was not done to slight Urbanus. The plain fact was that the ever-ambitious archbishop had compromised himself by grasping after earthly power and could no longer serve God with a whole heart.
Mryddin Emrys wisely set Urbanus aside, saying, “As Arthur is a man of the west and north, and will return there to rule, it is only fitting that those who must serve with him also commission him to his service.”
Urbanus may have felt affronted by these words, but he could not argue with them. Also, he was somewhat relieved not to be seen commending Arthur. Who knew what might befall? If Arthur proved unworthy, it would be better not to have had anything to do with him. Relief battled with wounded pride—and relief won. “Yes, I do agree with you, Myrddin Emrys,” the archbishop said politely. “I will leave it in your hands, and in God’s.”
I am not lying when I tell you this was the best thing Urbanus could have done.
While these matters progressed, kings, lords, nobles, and chieftains began descending upon the city. Some had ridden with Arthur in battle and already owned him king; others had supported him through tribute and were ready to acknowledge him; still others knew nothing of him, and the summons caught them unawares. Nevertheless, they all came. For a new High King was to be crowned; and, whatever they thought of Arthur, this was not to be missed.
From Logres, Bernich, Rheged, Gwynedd, Dyfed, Mon, Derei, Dal Riata they came. They all came, yes, and from the Saecsen Shore came Aelle, now Bretwalda of the Saecsen kind, with his carles and kinsmen: Cynric and Cissa and Cymen.
Others came too: Ban and Bors of Benowyc across the sea; Cador of Cerniw: Samson, Bishop of Eboracum, and his abbot Caradoc of Carfan, together with a fair company of monks and priests; Meurig of Dyfed and Siluria; Ulfias of the Dobuni; Brastias of the Belgae; Idris of the Brigantes; Cunomor of Celyddon; Fergus, King of Ierne; and many more—each with a goodly retinue.
Of gifts there was no end. Each lord strove to embarrass the other with feats of generosity. Gold and silver glittered in the form of armbands, torcs, brooches, bowls, and ornaments of innumerable kinds. There were colorful gemstones and pearls of great value, enameled pins of cunning filigree, and boxes of scented wood carved with the interwoven figures of fantastic animals; new-made spears by the score, horn bows and flights of arrows, trained hounds for hunting, shields embossed with gleaming brass and painted cowh
ide; casks of golden mead, and vats of ale; gifts of grain and leather, butter, salt, honey; and also beef, pork, lamb, and fowl. More, in short, than can be told and believed.
* * *
Arthur’s second kingmaking was as near to his father Aurelius’ as the Wise Emrys could make it. He even schooled the churchmen in the words they should pronounce. The ceremony was performed in the church and witnessed by the assembled lords, the Cymbrogi, and as many of the self-appointed dignitaries of Caer Lundein as could squeeze themselves through the doors.
What they saw is well known. It has been reported from one end of this worlds-realm to the other—and even in Rome and Jerusalem!
At dawn on a spotless morning in the height of summer, Arthur entered the church, accompanied by Bedwyr and Cai on his left and right, and Myrddin walking slowly before him. Though the Exalted Emrys was blind, he had learned such craft with his rowan staff that it served him better than sight. Behind Arthur came Illtyd, bearing a circlet of gold.
The four walked the length of the church, passing among a congregation struck dumb by the singular sight of Arthur: tall, erect, regal in every stitch and sinew, arrayed in a tunic of pearl white over trousers of leaf green, a belt of red-gold disks at his waist, and a golden torc at his throat; his cloak was deepest red. His fair hair was trimmed and brushed back from his temples. His placid blue eyes were fixed on the altar ahead and filled with reverent joy.
At Arthur’s entrance, the holy brothers of Urbanus’ order began chanting the gloria, singing, “Gloria! Gloria! Gloria in Excelsis Deo! Gloria in Excelsis Deo!…”
Glory! Glory! Glory to God in the high realms!
Before the altar Dubricius and Teilo waited, lit candles in their hands. The entire church shimmered and danced with candlelight like tongues of apostolic flame kindling the spirits of all who gathered there with holy fire.
The throng bowed down as Arthur passed, falling to their knees upon the tesselated stone flags in homage. Upon gaining the altar, Arthur knelt and the priests placed their right hands upon his shoulders and prayed silently for him.
Arthur: Book Three of the Pendragon Cycle Page 37
