by Whyte, Jack
He stopped, abruptly, his arm muscles tense, holding the sword now motionless, extended at arm's length, and then he grounded the point, reversed his grip, and held the hilt towards me.
"Magical," he whispered, his voice husky. "It should be used, not hidden beneath a dusty floor."
"It will be, Brother, when the time is right." Taking it from him, still sitting with my legs beneath the floor, I yielded to a sudden impulse and struck the blade against the boards, raising the point to the vertical immediately and pressing the cockleshell pommel to the floor to produce the bell like, resonant effect of which I had read in my uncle's books. In all the years of my guardianship of Excalibur, it was the first time I had done so, and even I was unprepared for the effect it produced. Out of nowhere, springing from the very air of the room, it seemed, an unearthly sound of crystalline, sense-searing beauty sprang into being, transfixing both of us with its power, clarity and shocking strength. Startled myself by its awesome purity and ringing loudness, I jerked my arm upward, breaking the contact between the sword and the solid floor, and the sound faded quickly, to die away completely and suddenly as I touched the blade with a pointing fingertip, feeling a sharp and eerie tingle in my hand at the contact so that I pulled my hand away again.
The silence that followed was profound until Ambrose broke it with a whispered question.
"What was that?"
I cleared my throat and smiled again, regaining my self-possession. "Excalibur, singing. I read about it in my uncle's books, but I had never heard it before now." Ambrose was gazing at the sword, an expression on his face of almost superstitious dread, and I knew my own would have mirrored it had I not known what I knew. "Apparently it has something to do with the purity of the metal," I said, for his benefit. "Some kind of vibration. According to Father Andros, the man who first did that the day the sword was made, the ancient smiths could gauge the quality of their weapons by the sounds they produced."
"What ancient smiths? I've never heard of that."
I shrugged. "No more had I, but it is obviously true. The purer the metal, the sweeter the temper, the truer and more powerful the sound produced."
"But there were sounds, Caius. That was not one simple sound, not one clear note. I heard several, high and low."
"I know, but don't expect me to explain it. As I said, I've never done that before. It shocked me as much as it did you."
"Do it again."
I did, this time with more confidence, and we listened enthralled as the mighty, ringing clarity of the song of Excalibur made the very air of the room vibrate, setting the dust motes quivering in the beams of light from the roof vents. Then came the sound of running footsteps outside, rushing towards the doors, and I stifled the sound by pressing the blade this time against my leg, feeling again the transient, tingling sting before the blade grew still. Someone thrust against the doors from the outside and I was grateful I had taken the time to bar them. Then fists pounded against the bronze-covered wood and we heard voices raised in anxious questioning. Grimacing at Ambrose, I quickly replaced the sword in its case and dropped it into its hiding- place before replacing the floorboard hurriedly. The pegs that locked the board in place projected still, but I ignored them.
"Open the door, but not too quickly." I crossed the room quickly to a small table, where I picked up one of the devices that lay there, a hollowed- out stone attached to a long, leather cord. I quickly wrapped the small loop in the end of the cord around my right index finger and then nodded to Ambrose, who swung open the doors to admit Trebonius Velus, Centurion of the Guard for that day. As Velus stepped across the threshold, looking uneasily about the room, I saw the press of armoured bodies behind him.
"Trebonius Velus, is there something wrong?"
My question stopped him in mid-step and his face betrayed his confusion as he looked from Ambrose to me and back again, blinking rapidly.
"Wrong, Commander? I don't know, but we heard something strange."
"What do you mean, strange?" I was careful to keep my voice polite and neutral.
He blinked again and shrugged. "I don't know, Commander, but it was very loud. Some kind of whistling sound. Twice, we heard it. The first time, it was brief. I was close by, checking the guards, and we all heard it but could not locate it—it was gone too quickly. But the second time, we heard it coming from here, and we came running." Clearly embarrassed, he went on, "I beg your pardon, Commander. We didn't know you were in here. No one did."
"Think no more of it, Centurion, you behaved correctly." I moved towards him, holding up the hand that held the stone. "This is what you heard, and you were right to respond the way you did. It is a weapon. Have you seen it before?"
Velus shook his head, his eyes fixed on my upraised hand with the looped cord around the first finger joint. I raised it higher, so that the craning guards at his back could see it, too. I was very aware of Ambrose's eyes on me.
"You all know, at least by report, how fond my uncle Publius Varrus was of unusual weapons," I continued, addressing myself to all of them. "Well, this is one of the strangest of them all. We have no name for it, but it was used by the barbarian hordes in the farthest reaches of the Eastern Empire. It was brought back to Britain by our own Vegetius Sulla, many years ago. It is no more than a heavy stone, as you can see, attached to a leather string. It is swung around the head and hurled; a kind of slingshot, but with two differences: first, the stone is attached to the string, and second, the stone is carved, or ground out, so that it generates a whistling sound as it is swung. Observe."
Stepping to the centre of the room where I was unobstructed, I allowed the stone to drop from my hand to dangle at the end of its cord, and then I began to swing it around my head. As it picked up momentum, it began to emit a low, warbling ululation that quickly swelled to a howling shriek that brought at least one guard's hands up to cover his ears. As I began to swing even harder, leaning into my movements to increase both speed and sound, the cord suddenly snapped, cutting the noise instantly and sending the heavy stone shooting up and across the room, fortunately to my rear, where it glanced off a roof beam and smacked violently but harmlessly into a corner pillar before clattering to the floor. No one stirred in the absolute, shocked stillness. I drew the cord through my fingers and examined the frayed end.
"This was an old cord, and therefore dangerous," I said. "But I think you all saw and heard enough."
Velus coughed and nodded. "Aye, Commander. My thanks, and pardon us. We'll leave you alone."
When they had gone, closing the doors behind them, Ambrose turned to me with a grin, one eyebrow raised. "That was quick thinking. I am impressed, but it sounded nothing like the other sound."
"We know that, Brother, but they don't. We were here and knew what we were listening to. They came running to investigate an alien sound that burst upon their ears unexpectedly. I showed them an alien weapon that produced a loud noise. The cord broke before it could achieve its highest volume. They are satisfied and will think no more about it."
He merely shook his head, still smiling admiringly. "As I said, quick thinking. There was more of Merlyn the Celt than Caius the Roman in that spontaneity. I couldn't have come up with that explanation in a hundred years." His gaze settled upon the locking pegs still projecting above the floorboards.
"Shouldn't we conceal those?"
"Absolutely." I pressed each stud with my foot until it sank level with the surface. "Well, Ambrose Britannicus, you have now seen Excalibur, and handled it, and heard it. Any comments?"
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "What could I say? I've never seen its like, but there has never been its like . . ." His hesitation was brief. "But the observation I made earlier comes back to me; it should be used. Who will use it? The boy?"
"Arthur? Perhaps. If not he . . ." I glanced around the room, then went and picked up the whistling stone from the corner, replacing it upon the table where I had found it. "I'll make a new cord for that tomorrow. Uncle Varr
us was always most particular about the maintenance of even the least of his treasures." Ambrose had not moved and I felt his eyes upon me, deliberating the incompleteness of my answer to his last question. "If not he," I continued, then broke off again, looking around me still. "I'm thirsty. Let's go find a jug of wine and talk some more on this. There are aspects of your question I have never really considered. This could be as good a time as any to confront them."
A short time later, we sat in the day quarters that had been my father's office before it became mine. A small fire burned in the brazier and I had lit lamps and candles to dispel the heavy shadows of late afternoon. Even with the small windows high up on the walls to admit light, summer made little difference to the interior rooms. I had found a jug of wine and released the guard from duty outside my door, which was now firmly closed against interruption. Ambrose had made no attempt to break in upon my thoughts since leaving the Armoury. I took another sip of wine and placed the cup carefully upon the table.
"Excalibur. You said in the Armoury that there has never been anything like it, but that is not strictly true. There is, or there was, a dagger, and a sword—a short-sword—that resembled it. The sword was made by Uncle Varrus's grandfather for his only son, Publius Varrus's father, but Varrus's father died on campaign with the legions before he ever saw it. It ended up, by some circuitous route, in the hands of the Emperor Theodosius, his most prized weapon. The Sword of Theodosius, men called it. It was the first Varrus blade made from the metal of a skystone."
"From the Skystone? But how could that be? You told me Varrus found the Skystone here, close by."
"That's true, he did. But I did not say the Skystone, I said made from a skystone. The Sword of Theodosius was made from the first skystone, the one found by the old man, Uncle Varrus's grandfather, about a hundred years ago."
He was frowning. "I see, so there were two stones."
"In fact, there were many of them, all save one of which came down together one night near here, in the Mendip Hills, but that's unimportant." I pushed my high-backed chair back on its legs and put my feet up on the table. " The point I wanted to make is that the sword in question was nothing like Excalibur. I never saw it, but I have read a description of it. It lacked the silver finish, the mirror-bright purity, and it was only a short-sword. But it was made from skystone metal, mixed with ordinary iron, and it would cut other swords in half. And it was stolen from the Varrus forge and ended up being owned by Theodosius. What happened to it in the interim will never be known, but its qualities were such that its ownership succession took it steadily upward from a smith to an emperor."
"What happened to the dagger?"
"Publius Varrus owned that. He buried it with Grandfather Caius, the year you and I were born."
"So you never saw it, either."
"No, but it was flawless, with a blade like polished silver. Peerless. And now there is Excalibur. Can you doubt that men would steal and kill to own it? Uncle Varrus himself told me men would fight wars to possess it. Therefore, brother, it behooved us to make sure, from the outset, that its first owner and user is man enough to hold it and to keep it. It is a king's sword, at least, now that there are no emperors around. We must breed a king worthy of the sword."
"Uther was a king."
"Aye, but a small one. His kingship was small, I mean. There was nothing petty about Uther."
"So his son—"
"His son may be the man, some day. He has the blood of kings—not merely Uther's blood—and he has the breeding. He is Eirish Gael and Cambrian Celt and he is heir to Cornwall's Celts, through his mother. He has the blood of ancient Rome within him, too, patrician Cornelius through our own line, and equestrian Varrus. He could become High King."
"High King of Britain?" I heard amazement in my brother's voice.
"Why not?"
"Why not indeed." Now his tone changed to one of musing. "Vortigern sees himself as High King of Britain some day "
"Does he, by God? By what right?"
His lip flicked upward in a tiny smile. "By default, I suspect, and by right of conquest and possession. What other right is there?"
I had no adequate response to that and so sat quiet for some time, sipping my wine again while my mind raced to follow this new line of thought Ambrose had opened up. If Vortigern's ambitions leaned towards a High King's stature, I reasoned, then we in Camulod might well be able to make use of them to our own, similar ends.
A solid, heavy clunk, accompanied by a flash of movement brought me back from my musings. A small, tanned leather purse, bulky and evidently filled with coins, had landed on the table in front of me.
"What's this?"
"My current wealth, all of it, to purchase access to your gravid thoughts."
I smiled. "We don't use money here."
"I know, no more do we. I keep it as a talisman, a memento of a time long gone. You were thinking of Vortigern, I believe."
"Aye, I was. He will never be High King of Britain."
"Why not? He's already well along the path towards it. He controls the whole of the northeast and works with Hengist to extend his influence southward, into the Settlements."
"That will take him years."
"I agree, but he has years. He's not an old man, Cay. Five, perhaps six years older than you, that's all."
"Very well, he has years. But after those have passed he'll be no more than king of East Britain. Does he have sons?"
"Aye, two. Cuthbert and Areltane."
"Cuthbert? Areltane? What kind of names are those?"
Ambrose shrugged. "Different names; men's names. Saxon names."
"Are they impressive, these sons?"
Again the shrug, this time more pensive. "Who can tell? They are both young, but both king's sons. They have . . . concerns which other men lack . . . I believe, however, that the younger, Areltane, could be his father's heir in more than name. He is a strong young man in every way, approaching his seventeenth year."
"What about the other one, Cuthbert is it? How old is he?"
"Nearing nineteen. He is . . . less of a presence than the younger boy. Not less manly, you understand, merely less gifted; less likable, perhaps; certainly less open, less outgoing. I like him well enough, personally, but he is overshadowed by his younger brother in almost everything they do."
"Does he resent that?"
"Again, who can tell what goes on inside another man's mind? He doesn't seem to. The boys get along well together, outwardly at least."
"The other, Areltane; can he fight?"
"Aye, superbly for his age. He's a natural leader."
"Hmm. You admire Vortigern, don't you?"
"Yes, I do, and he has earned that. You admired him, too, when you met him."
"Yes, I admit I did. But High King, eh? Well, perhaps in the Eastern regions, as I said, but never in the West; not in Cambria, or Cornwall, and certainly not in Camulod, even though, as you pointed out, he still has years ahead of him. How many years, would you think, to claim and settle all of Britain to the east?"
Ambrose's face broke into a wide grin as he at last discerned the direction of my thoughts. "Long enough for a boy child to grow up. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"
"Yes." I squeezed my chin between my palms and nodded my head slowly. "It had occurred to me that Vortigern victorious in the East would keep the pressures of invasion from that direction away from us, leaving us to guard against the South and the West alone."
Ambrose stood up, unable to contain his excitement as the picture in his mind took shape. "Of course! And the boy Arthur is the natural heir—legitimately—to South and West and North!"
"Aye," I added. "Even to Eire, which could reduce the threat from beyond the western seas."
He sat down again as suddenly as he had risen, staring at me.
"You dream wide-reaching dreams, Caius Merlyn."
"Perhaps, but I am bred to it and my dreams are not of my own greatness. We have a land to safeguard he
re—" I broke off as another thought occurred to me, then voiced it as a question. "Will those dreams cause you problems with your friend Vortigern?"
My question surprised him but he quickly shook his head. "No, not at all. I have already chosen, as you know, to make my life here. I will return to Vortigern and tell him that—another decision long since made. But now I can approach him as a military ally, offering him a guard upon his western flanks; our cavalry. He will be well pleased with that."
"You have no fears that he might seek, some far-off day and then merely to assist his loyal friends, to extend his domain to Camulod and the West?"
"He might," he admitted, after having thought about it for a time. "But by then he'll be too late. I know he has too much ahead of him now even to give thought to the possibility were he aware of it. By the time he does come around to it, if he ever does, his loyal friends will be too strong, too well established in their hilly lands behind their walls of horsemen, for him to consider waging war with them. In the meantime, Vortigern will pacify and unite the East, and Camulod will have those years to grow and prosper, unless something goes radically wrong."
"Aye, and something always will, but at least we have an end in sight— a target to aim for." Now it was I who stood up. "Come on, then. The first step along this path is not a step at all; I want to fork your legs across a saddle and get your feet securely into stirrups, and I want to be aboard a ship to fetch the child before the next moon fills its face."
Within the month, as I had ordained, Donuil and I were ready to set out for Eire. Ambrose was well ensconced and already ranging far and wide throughout the Colony, his feet securely anchored in his stirrups.
Donuil and I would travel light, with only nine men as escort. We would have preferred to ride alone, only the two of us, from my home to his, but everyone around us, from Aunt Luceiia to our visiting Druid friend Daffyd, had warned us of the folly of such a course. The dangers we would face lay on the road, they said, not at the end of our route, and of course they were right. A party of eleven would be small enough to make good speed, and large enough to discourage attack along the way. We picked our people carefully, for their size and fighting skills, and I was content. All nine of them were friends and companions of long standing.
