The Killing Sword

by Asotir

his back. It angered him. Hope already, vain and foolish, and for so little! Slowly he watched himself until it drained away.

  When weariness came to him he did not seek the pallet but held himself kneeling upon the one knee. He thought to himself, Stones do not move, no more shall I.

  ‘Prisoner of the North.’ The slot was open and the little lurid gleam wandered back into the pit.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have met your squire and told him what you asked.’

  He watched the blood in his wrists and the sinews of his back, lest they betray him again. But he had beaten them.

  ‘Prisoner of the North, did you hear?’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘And will I have no word of thanks from you?’

  ‘You did me a turn for your own blessing and not for mine. I have no thanks for you. I have gone beyond thanks.’

  ‘Prisoner of the North, you are a strange man.’

  ‘Be it so.’

  The slot fell and the light failed again.

  Balyn let his senses sink down with his heavy blood, down into his foot where he set it on the stone, down deep into the Earth. O Devils, what will you? O Devils, what game is this?

  It was no game.

  ‘Prisoner of the North, I bring you great tidings on this day!’

  ‘Is it day then.’

  ‘Your squire has told your tale to your people in the North, and they have sued the barons of the King, and you are to be freed.’

  There came a creaking, that was torment to his ears. But the heavy oaken door shook and pulled away and the blinding glare of a small candle stabbed into the pit.

  ‘Come forth, rejoice, for today you are free.’

  ‘Is it so?’

  And for the first time in weeks he tottered to his feet.

  He walked up the passageways. Back and forth they led, up to the surface of the earth. The light that cut at him was agony but it was nothing to what awaited him outside the gate. For it was day and the Sun burned in the sky.

  He stood at the edge of a square in the town. Cattle and horses grazed in the square. Men and carts passed by. He paid them no heed. He looked up at the Sun.

  Men stared at him, a strong man pale from half a year’s time in the grave, filthy from the pit. He did not see them.

  An hour in the grave is worth a month in life.

  After a time he bent his legs and knelt on one knee. He reached to the dirt of the road. He held a clot of dried mud in his fist and his big fingers tightened until the clot burst into dust and crumbled to the ground.

  I have outlived the pit, therefore I will seek what great thing I may do. O Devils, I have not forgotten.

  He saw for the first time that men walked in the square. They were marching up to the castle on the hill above the town. They were knights and barons and men of arms, all weaponed men going to the King.

  He went with them.

  III. The Naked Damsel

  IN THE GREAT HALL the knights gathered. Balyn stood in the back of the throngs. There from afar he had a glimpse of King Arthur where he stood among the six barons and kings who were his last allies.

  ‘A messenger has come, it’s said he bears bad tidings,’ said a knight.

  Balyn moved back until the hangings half concealed him. He felt ashamed to stand among them dirty and foul-smelling, ragged and unkempt and swordless. So he did not see the messenger and only heard his voice.

  ‘I am the voice of Ryons!’ said the messenger. ‘King of North Wales and of all Ireland, and of many isles besides. He bids me tell you, Arthur who name yourself Uther the Dragon’s son, that my lord King Ryons has overcome eleven kings, and every one of them does him homage, so that they gave him their beards clean flayed off, as much as there was; wherefore he now sends me for yours.

  ‘For my lord King Ryons has purfled a mantle with kings’ beards, and there lacks but one place on the mantle. Therefore he sends for your beard, or else he will enter into your lands and burn and slay, and never leave till he has both your beard and your head.’

  ‘Well,’ came a voice, and it spoke out young and clear and ringing, so that in the one word Balyn knew it was a king’s voice, and Arthur’s, ‘you have said your message, which is the most villainous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent unto a king. You may see my beard is too young to make a purfle of it. But tell your master this: I owe him no homage, nor did any of my fathers. But before long, he shall do me homage on both his knees, or else he shall lose his head, by the faith of my body.’

  This was King Arthur’s answer, and when he said it the knights cheered and shook their weapons in the air. And Balyn knew that here was a king to follow.

  He had a glimpse of the messenger then, a little man with a rat’s face and a fool’s beard, as he was hooted from that hall. Balyn stood near to the outer door and watched him flee down into the yard. But then he saw step up from there a damsel from a far country, richly wrapped in a great furred mantle, and wearing about her head a black veil as of mourning.

  The jeers died in men’s throats at the sight of her, as all the other knights surely knew as Balyn did, from the way she held her head and walked, that underneath that mantle the damsel was deathly fair.

  ‘I seek King Arthur,’ she said. ‘Will no one take me to the King.’

  ‘I am Arthur here before you,’ said the King. ‘Make way, you men, and let the damsel pass. Come to me maiden and do not fear to speak, whatever your quest may be.’

  Now all the weaponed men parted and Balyn watched her walk past him, almost at arm’s reach, and so down into the middle of the hall. Balyn stepped closer, so he could keep the damsel in his sight. But the King was still hidden from him behind the press of men.

  ‘Now,’ said the King’s voice, ‘what has brought you here?’

  ‘This,’ she answered, and let fall the furred mantle to the floor. Beneath that mantle the damsel stood naked, and wore nothing beside the black veil and a heavy sword belted over her slim waist. And she was as fair as Balyn had feared, and even beyond. But the clasp of that belt was rich with rubies and most strangely wrought, for it was the Belt of the Strange Clasp. And the pommel of the sword was gold and silver wire upon steel, and it was the pommel that drew all men’s eyes, for it seemed made by more than human hand.

  ‘What is this sword you wear?’ asked the King’s voice. ‘Maiden, to stand so naked with a sword ill beseems you.’

  ‘The Lady Lille of Avalon,’ she answered, ‘has made this scabbard and Belt of the Strange Clasp, so that the sword may not be drawn but by the best knight in the world, of the greatest heart and strength of arms, untouched by treachery or villainy. And I have come to your court, O King, to see if I may find that knight here among you. Already I have been to the court of King Ryons and all his knights tried, but not one of them could draw the sword.’

  ‘I myself will try it for your sake,’ said the King. ‘Not that I say I am best here. But if I go first then I will give heart to my barons, that they may try without fear lest in failing they be shamed.’

  So the men made way, and the King stepped down before the Naked Damsel. Balyn then had his first clear sight of the King, and he was a young man little out of boyhood, but with a broad fair face open and clean like the August sky. And Balyn liked the boy that was his King.

  Arthur laid hold of the wonderful pommel of the sword. He pulled eagerly, but the Strange Clasp of the scabbard would not let go the sword.

  ‘My lord, you need not pull so fiercely,’ said the damsel. ‘The sword will yield itself gladly to the fated hand.’

  ‘You say well,’ answered Arthur. So he gave up and stepped back from Balyn’s sight.

  Then the barons tried. But none of them might draw the sword. Then the knights tried, and they were the best knights in the world at that time. But none of them might do it.

  Therefore the damsel made great sorrow and said, ‘Alas, I hoped to find in this court knights without treachery or treason.’

  ‘By m
y faith,’ said Arthur, ‘here are as good knights as I deem as any in the world, but their doom is not to help you, wherefore I am displeased.’

  ‘Ah me,’ said the damsel. ‘My heart now is heavy, and I know not who might help me.’ And she drew up the furred mantle and covered herself again and stepped out from the hall.

  Balyn watched her go. It grieved him that the mantle covered now the sword, for it had won his heart. And when each baron and knight gripped and failed to draw it, Balyn had felt his heart give a leap. And yet he held himself back, unclean as he was. But when he saw the damsel passing out through the doorway, he could no longer hold his peace.

  ‘Maiden,’ he said, ‘let me try.’

  She looked back across her shoulder. Little could he see of her eyes beneath the veil, but he knew she looked at him and judged harshly, and the blood fired in his face.

  ‘Do not,’ she said, in a low husky voice, ‘I pray you, give my heart more grief. For if you try and fail my misery will be double, and it seems doubtful enough that you as you are might outdo these noble knights.’

  He stepped close to her, so that but a hand’s breadth lay between them. She looked up to his face, and she saw that he was a well-made man though he wore rags and smelled of the prison gate; but with all that he looked a man without villainy or treachery in his heart.

  And he said to her ears alone, ‘Worthiness and great deeds hang not from clothes alone, but manhood and strength hide within the heart, and many worshipful knights are not known to everyone.’

  ‘By God,’ she breathed, ‘you speak the truth. Therefore you shall try