The Third Magic (21 page)

That's the most stupid thing of all, she thought. Recognize her from what? He was a celebrity. His picture had appeared in
People
magazine. She was a loser high school girl in a hick town. Arthur Blessing wouldn't recognize her. He wouldn't even notice her.

Nevertheless, she had promised Ms. B that she would try to talk with him, and she would. At the sound of approaching motorcycles, she propped up her bicycle between two parked cars and waited. Then, when the entourage came into view and the spectators stepped out of their cars to wave or display their signs and placards, Gwen walked out into the middle of the road to face Arthur head-on. If he was going to ignore her, she reasoned, he would at least have to make the effort to avoid hitting her.

A
rthur swallowed nervously as
he rode past the rows of parked cars along the highway. They had been present every mile of the way since the incident on Route 16.

He didn't like being treated like a hero. He hadn't done anything heroic, for one thing. On that occasion—the "First Miracle," as the newspapers were referring to it, as if he had miracles spilling from his sleeves like magicians' scarves—Arthur had meant only to ask all those people to please go home and stop thinking that he was anything other than an eighteen-year-old farm boy.

What happened after that was as much a mystery to him as it had been to everyone else. While he was walking toward the crowd, he had felt an irresistible compulsion to stop in his tracks. It was almost as if a hand had physically restrained him from moving.

That was all. He was aware of nothing after that. He had no recollection of raising his hands skyward, or of closing his eyes, or even of remaining in the same spot for nearly an hour. As far as he knew, he had just stopped for a moment, the briefest pause. It was almost as if he had fallen asleep. He could even still recall a faint recollection of dreaming—not the dream itself, but the bare ends of the dream, like the barest brush of birds' feathers.

A sword had been in his hand. The sword, Excalibur, the magic one. It had hummed and throbbed like living steel as he had pulled it, pulled it from... what? A body? Its scabbard?

No, of course, he recollected. The stone. It had to have been the stone.

A memory of the Other, ringing through his physical brain. How long would it be before all of his memories became those of the Other, of the great King come to life again? How long before the King's life took over, and Arthur Blessing ceased to exist altogether?

These were the thoughts going through his mind when he saw the girl standing in the middle of the road.

Instantly those thoughts vanished. At the sight of her, it suddenly did not matter a whit whether his memories belonged to himself, to a dead King, or to the man in the moon. It was the girl, the girl who had come to him in a thousand dreams and visions, standing before him.

He swerved so badly that Fairhands, sitting behind him, nearly fell off. When he raised one hand, indicating that he wanted the group to halt, the knights automatically formed a protective circle around him before turning off their engines. Then Arthur dismounted and walked toward Gwen.

For a moment they said nothing. The warm breeze carried her scent toward him, and he closed his eyes, allowing her fragrance to wash over him.

"I've brought a message...." she began, but as he took her hands in his, her words seemed to be both inadequate and redundant.

Through her touch, Arthur saw a series of faces, all different, all beautiful, all hers. He heard the music of her voice, speaking words of languages that no longer existed. She moved closer, touched his face with her own, brushed her hair against his eyes. She sighed, softly, a tender breath, catching deep in her throat on buds of passion.

In the circle surrounding them, an amateur photographer ducked into the space between Kay and Gawain and snapped a picture. Without a moment's hesitation, Kay struck the photographer on the forehead, and the man reeled backward. But the circle had been broken. Slowly, the onlookers lining the highway began to move in.

"Arthur," Hal said in warning.

Gwen broke away from him. "Your aunt wants you to be careful," she said. "The town has made a big deal out of your visit. It's crowded. And some of the people don't like you. Some of them..."

The knights circled in more tightly. Gwen looked around, frightened.

"Let's go," Hal said. Gwen backed away.

"Wait," Arthur called. "Who are you? How can I see you again? Where—"

But the knights were pushing him toward the motorcycles, their leathers squeaking as they formed a phalanx around their King.

The girl was gone.

Fairhands took over the controls of the Harley. Hal led the group through the crowd, which had already reached the stage where it could become dangerous. Several hands reached out to touch the motorcyclists. Some of them called Arthur's name. "Touch me, too!" a woman shouted.

Launcelot, pulling up the rear, looked back to see if he could find the girl again. She was there, standing still as a statue. He knew her, of course, although he had never seen her so young.

Young enough to be my daughter, he thought. He crossed himself, his cheeks blazing with shame.

Forgive me, Guenevere.

RIGHTWISE KING OF ALL ENGLAND

A
rthur hardly noticed the
burgeoning crowd that grew steadily as the knights approached Miller's Creek. All around them horns blared and people cheered, but he heard only three words that ricocheted through his mind like circling birds:
She is mine.

H
e pulled the sword
from the stone on the occasion of Beltane, or May Day.

Old Cheneus, who had appointed himself a sort of é
minence grise
concerning the sword that was embedded in a rock in Leodegranz's thicket, had decreed that the only attempts at extricating the blade which would be deemed legitimate would be those performed in full view of other nobles on sanctified holy days. Some, like Lot of Rheged, grumbled; but then, he would grumble in any case. Most, however, agreed that this was the best course of action, and discouraged those who might try to remove the sword by unethical means.

This meant that after the initial discovery of the sword at Imbolc, no one else could attempt to take the sword until Ostara, the spring equinox. And after that, since no one had succeeded then, the entire community of nobles was forced to meet once again at the next holiday, Beltane.

By this time, the assemblage of petty chiefs and their favorite sons was quite impressive. King Leodegranz's reputation grew considerably just by virtue of hosting all these events. At Beltane the nobles brought along full entourages to cheer them on during their turn at the sword, so that the entire hillside was swarming with people. Commoners came, too, including children, musicians, jugglers, and even food vendors from the local villages who saw an opportunity to sell their wares at highly inflated prices.

In the short months since Imbolc, it became known that no man could really remove the sword from the stone; and so the feast days slowly became just that—opportunities for people to get together in a festive atmosphere. It was like the days of old, before the Romans came with their metal roads and flush toilets, when the land was everything, and the Greater and Lesser Sabbats celebrated the changes in the land. Festivals like Beltane were in the Britons' Celtic blood, calling them to ancient revelries, taking them all back to the simpler times, not just before the Romans, but before even the Druids, when the most ancient of gods, who were always female, opened the earth to magic and permitted human beings to be a part of that magic.

And so it was that when Arthur—who was, really, little more than a boy, and one of unknown lineage at that—took the sword from the stone, there was immediately a sense of ancient magic about the act.

To be sure, when it happened it was as if all of the air had vanished off the earth.

No one had been paying much attention. Ector and his son Kay had been trying again, as they had twice before. No one among the nobility wanted either of them to be made High King, since Ector had not inherited any chiefdom. But then, there was the question of Uther's army, which was loyal to Ector now. And so if he or his son managed to take the sword, the others would be forced to at least consider Ector.

Most of the nobility refused to consider this possibility. They took the attitude that whatever gods were in charge of this odd procedure of acquiring a High King surely would not place a commoner in such a position.

So it was that very few of the celebrants were watching when Ector, in a spirit of goodwill, allowed his foster son, Arthur, to have a go at the Great Sword of Macsen, as it was then being called.

"Go on there, lad, let's see what you can do!" Ector said bluffly, nudging Kay's belly with an elbow.

Kay gave a loud and uncouth shout that caused Cheneus and a few of the others to look over in disdain.
What could be expected from the offspring of a common soldier
, their tight lips and veiled gazes seemed to say. And who was that walking up to the sword, someone's squire? Something would have to be done. The whole affair was turning into a mockery. Ector was bad enough, but now ...

E
xcalibur,
Arthur whispered as
he reached for the sword's hilt. For the smallest moment, the briefest flicker, he raised his gaze. In the crowd was Guenevere, King Leodegranz's beautiful daughter whom Arthur felt as if he had known forever. Her lips were moving. They were forming the same name that he himself spoke:

Excalibur.
The magic sword. She knew it.

And she knew him.

With a sudden intake of breath, Arthur pulled the sword cleanly, effortlessly, out of the stone and held it aloft in silent triumph.

The first gasps silenced the noise of the festival so effectively that only the scattered calls of birds broke it. Arthur stood in the silence, transfixed in it, feeling only the Tightness of the sword in his hand and the sight of the woman whose eyes had never left his.

Now it begins,
he thought.

N
o one bowed to
him. After a few minutes, when those who had been watching were able to catch their breath and those who had not were able to comprehend the magnitude of what had just occurred, Cheneus stepped forward tentatively. He examined the opening in the rock from which the sword had been taken, looked carefully at the blade still held aloft in Arthur's upraised hand.

Arthur said nothing. His eyes never wavered, but remained fixed on the rapt gaze of Guenevere. In both their hearts, they were already bound as surely as if they had been married.

"He has taken the sword without impediment," Cheneus announced in his creaky voice. "And so I do declare this man, whose name is..." He looked to the boy dubiously.

"Arthur," the boy said.

"That's all?" Cheneus whispered. "You've no family name at all?"

Arthur did not answer.

Old Cheneus sighed. "... whose name is Arthur, of the house of Ector—"

"The house of Pendragon," came a voice in the crowd. A druid whom no one had noticed amid them lowered his cowl.

"By Mithras, it's the one brought him to my house those years ago!" Ector exclaimed. "Pendragon, you say! Is the boy Uther's own son, then?"

"He is," the druid answered. "Left in your care for safekeeping all this time."

Lot of Rheged pushed his way through the crowd. "I'll not serve Uther's bastard, nor any other nameless whelp!"

"He is not a bastard, but Uther's true and only son," Taliesin said, cold-eyed. "But that is of no matter, for he has taken the sword in the manner set forth by the gods, and you will serve him!"

Lot spat on the ground.

Ector immediately reached for his own sword, but the druid stopped him. "What say you, Arthur?" the wizard challenged.

For a moment Arthur could only stand gawping. The magnitude of what had just happened was beginning to register. How was he to speak now? What would he say?

"High King indeed!" Lot shouted scornfully. "That one's no more fit to rule than a barnyard cur. He can't even speak!"

"I can speak," Arthur answered, and the sound of his voice captured everyone's attention. He looked around at the crowd, studying each face. Some were encouraging, most were dubious, a few were overtly hostile. But they were all listening.

"This occurrence is as strange to me as it is to you," he said in a clear voice. "Nevertheless, it has occurred. I have won the sword according to rules which were made by you, not me. If I had been raised as a nobleman, perhaps I would abdicate, thinking this to be some gross mistake. But I was raised not as a nobleman but as a soldier, and when a soldier is given an order, he obeys it." He raised the sword high. "This sword is my order. I do not know which god has issued it, but I am prepared to carry it out."

Ector's chest swelled with pride. "He speaks the truth," Kay said, squaring his shoulders.

"Only a High King can unite us against the invading Saxons!" someone called out. "It doesn't matter who that is."

"Actually, that's right," Old Cheneus agreed. "A High King only needs to keep the peace between the rest of us."

"We can keep our own peace," Lot said hotly, "without the help of an untutored child!"

Several people shouted Lot down. He turned on the crowd with a snarl. "Idiots! Is the High King to be some powerless, landless spirit, then? Who do you think will get Uther's kingdom and army?"

"The army'll go to whoever I say it goes to," Ector said in a rare moment of bravado. "You can make any laws you want, but Uther's army listens to me at the moment, and I'm going to tell them to follow the boy!"

"Look to your head, then," Lot threatened. The crowd began to get noisy.

"King Leodegranz!" Arthur shouted, silencing the assembly once again.

Leodegranz stepped forward, uncertain of how to address the young man. "I am he," he said at last. It seemed a safe thing to say.

"I wish to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage!"

Leodegranz staggered backward, and the crowd burst into disquiet again. Only two remained still and focused: Guenevere, who smiled in surprise and delight, and Arthur, whose love for her poured out of his very eyes.

Then, from out of the stillness came a wail of protest. "No! No! No!" It was Prince Melwas of Orkney striding forward with his fists clenched and his fleshy face contorted into a pout of heroic dimensions. Some of the ladies in attendance smiled behind their hands at the sight of him. Always known as something of a spoiled child, Melwas looked particularly infantile today. His curly gold hair bobbed up and down as he walked, drawing attention to his red cheeks and hunched shoulders. He looked for all the world like a child holding his breath in order to get his way.

"Princess Guenevere is betrothed to me, fool!" he shouted so loudly that his voice broke. "King Leodegranz's daughter and kingdom are mine. If you wish to challenge my right to them, you will have to fight both me and my army!" He placed his hands on his hips and smirked.

No one smiled back. Lot looked at Melwas from under his frowning brows, considering. Orkney was a backwater. Melwas's army—if they would even follow the young pup, since the prince's father was still alive—was composed mainly of farmers conscripted right out of the fields, and fishermen caught between boats. Hardly a match for Uther's well-trained troops.

Lot calculated the risk to his army if he participated with Melwas in battle against the boy Arthur and the army that would be his. Uther's men would not be at their best under the so-called leadership of that untried boy, but they could still do Lot a great deal of damage, particularly since Lot would have to march his men nearly five hundred miles to engage in battle.

No, he reasoned, perhaps not. He would fight Arthur "Pendragon" one day, but that day would not be in the immediate future. He gave Melwas one last contemptuous look, then turned his back and pushed his way back through the crowd.

Melwas's stricken eyes followed him. They registered panic. He had counted on Lot's assistance.

Ector watched the scene with undisguised amusement, then turned to Arthur to see how the boy administered the
coup de grace
to the already defeated Melwas. To his surprise, however, Arthur took pains to save the young prince's pride.

"As High King, I will serve you, Prince Melwas, not fight you. I promise we will preserve our kingdoms, and the peace of Britain. We will speak privately of this matter, and a resolution will be reached." Arthur nodded once, solemnly, and Melwas, thinking that Arthur meant to buy him off with a large tract of land, was appeased.

O
f course, Melwas did
not remain happy for long. Despite the quite generous gift of land that Arthur gave him in exchange for his unwilling bride-to-be, Melwas did ambush Arthur in an act of war less than a month afterward.

It was the first of many skirmishes with the petty kings. In time, Arthur came to view these as tests of the validity of his kingship, and did not hold them against the kings who tested him. In fact, his handling of these battles—not just his victories, although he won them all, but also his settlements after the victories—was eventually the mortar that kept the petty kings loyal to him for so long. Arthur never took their land, or their women, or their crops, or humiliated the kings for going against him. Instead, he fought with them, and after beating them, he permitted them still to rule over their tribes in the manner they had always done.

At last, when the kings knew they were safe and that their ways would be respected, they came round to accepting the light yoke of a High King, even one so young as Arthur Pendragon. Slowly he gained their respect. And with time, Arthur became known as a just, fair, and enlightened leader of free men.

B
ut in the beginning
of his reign, begun so strangely with a sword placed by the gods in an ancient graveyard, Arthur had yet to prove himself to the arrogant nobles who considered themselves to be his betters.

The first test came in the month of June. The odd situation which had occurred at Beltane was accepted, more or less, but with an uneasy silence. The kings had all agreed to a High King, after all, and had further agreed that this king, who would bind the rest of them together, would be chosen by the Sword of Macsen. Arthur had taken the sword and accepted the responsibilities of High King. It was now simply a question of whether or not the nobles would be good to their word.

For a long time, several weeks, no one spoke about it at all. Everyone was waiting for someone else to resolve the situation.

Arthur, mentored now by the Merlin on matters of power and politics, and by Ector on matters of war, had no time to worry about the indecisiveness of the petty kings. Merlin had told him to anticipate battles with most, if not all, of them, but harbored no doubt whatever that Arthur would claim the High Kingship in deed as well as name.

"It is what the gods have decreed," he said blithely. "Those fellows can try to go against that, but it will be of no use. Therefore you'll not waste your time trying to convince them to make you High King. You are the King; that's all there is to it. Everything else is detail."