Sword of the Rightful King (16 page)

“Where is that ale!” he shouted, looking longingly at the door of the throne room and willing it to open.

And open it did.

A guard poked his head in. “Sire, that thief is back. The old one. The one you gave the copper to.”

Arthur was stunned. How many in Cadbury knew about that copper? And then he shook his head. Hadn't he
wanted
it known? Wanted his people to think him a good king, a magnanimous king? “Why is he here?”

“He says he does not need to wait a year; he has to show you something.” The guard hesitated. “It is a dagger, Majesty. I do not advise seeing him.”

“Take the dagger; send him in,” Arthur said, thinking,
I might be magnanimous, but I am not stupid
.

James came in and went on one knee. “My king.”

“Back so soon?” Arthur asked. “Or do royal years run somewhat longer than yours?”

“I have already made a profit on your copper, sire, and thought you should know,” the man said, though his voice seemed somewhat sinister, or at least not inspiring much confidence.

“Stand up, man. I hate talking to the tops of people's heads,” Arthur said.

James stood. “Can I show you?”

Arthur shook his head. “Any man can make a onetime profit. My task to you was to make the profit last the year.”

“But this concerns... my
honor
, sire,” wheedled James.

Arthur realized that the man, like so many of those who sought his aid, would not go away easily. Better to find out what this amazing profit was, then send him off. He expected within the year that James would be in the dungeon or swinging from a tree somewhere, but that young Will would have bought his mother a farm. He would stake his
own
honor on that. “Then show me.”

“It was the dagger, sire. The one I was not allowed to bring in.”

The man was tiresome. He brought to mind that fat lady of means, the one with the dead cat. Arthur went back to his desk and sat down heavily. “Very well, call the guard in.”

James went, got the guard, and on the kings instruction was given the silken-wrapped dagger.

“Bring it here and let me see,” said Arthur.

 

G
AWEN WAS
just coming up the stairs from the kitchen with the mug of ale for the king, when Gawaine and his brothers came galloping down. Agravaine bumped heavily into Gawen, causing the ale to spill.

“Here there!” Gawen cried. “That's for the king.”

“Let me brush it where it's spilled,” Gawaine said, in way of apology, starting to run his hand over Gawen's tunic.

All of Gawen's long-held hatred of the prince roiled to the fore. “No need. No need.” Gawen turned away violently, and at that very moment, there was shouting beyond the king's door.

The guard hastily flung the door open, and Gawen and the guard and the four sons of the North Witch could see the king being set upon by a man with a large jeweled dagger in his hand. It was the man, not the king, who was shouting. Oddly, what he was saying was, “Stop it! Bloody hell! Stop it!” as he struck at the king over and over.

“Sire!”

Gawaine and Agravaine dashed in, edging the guard aside. Gawen was right behind them. The twins remained at the door, juggling to see what was happening.

None of the boys had a weapon, and the guards lance was for show only, not battle, but Arthur was already keeping the assassin away with—of all things—the sharp edge of his pen.

The man kept striking at him, over and over, clumsily, as if the dagger were doing the ill work and not the hand. Still, those strikes kept getting closer and closer.

At the last, Arthur aimed his pen like an arrow and flung it as hard as he could right into the assassins face. It hit him in the left eye, and he toppled, just as the deer had done two days before, screaming in agony on the floor. Still his hand and the dagger tried to strike out at a now-unseen enemy.

Gawen ran to the king, who was red-faced and breathing hard, beads of sweat running down his face.

“Sit, Arthur,” Gawen said. The use of the kings name lent the command some force, and Arthur sat.

Gawaine kicked the dagger from the man's hand, and it spun around three times widdershins, resting near the fire. At the same time, Agravaine, his face a fury, swung his foot up and crunched down on the old thief's face, sending the pen straight through into his brain.

“Stop!” Gawen cried. “The mage will want to speak to him.”

But it was too late. The thief was dead.

And later, when they went to retrieve the dagger, it had vanished.

All that was left was a gold coin in James's hand, minted somewhere on the Continent.

 

“T
HE DAGGER
was enchanted, of course,” said Merlinnus afterward. “It used the man and not the other way around.”

Arthur nodded. He was lying on his bed, though he did not feel a bit sleepy. The infirmarer had insisted on his resting. He had made Arthur drink a posset, which tasted like the sort of thing Sir Ector's wife had brewed up when he was a child and could not sleep.

“Who but the North Queen could have made such a spell?” Kay asked.

“Any of a half-dozen mages from the Far East, I suspect,” Merlinnus said. “Though I agree it was probably she.”

“Could
you
?” Kay was in the mood to challenge everyone and everything. The face of the dead man, with the pen through the eye, would not leave him.

“Why should I?”

“Arrrr!” Kay turned his back to Merlinnus and spoke to Arthur. “It was all your own fault, you know.”

Arthur shrugged. “Of course it was. All of it. From start to finish. That I admit. But nothing happened. I am fine. No harm done. Except to poor old James there. And now we must think about what this all means. How this man could have been corrupted by Morgause. How he found that dagger—or was given it. And if given it, then by whom?”

Kay added quickly, “And why the North Queens boys came in when they did. And why Agravaine killed the man before we could talk to him. And—”

Merlinnus quickly intruded. “All good questions. Some of which I will try to answer myself. But now, Kay, I think Arthur needs his sleep. Though you might stand guard yourself this night.”

“That I will!” Kay said. He turned and went to the door, looking over his shoulder. “That I will!” Then he went out.

Arthur tried to sit up. “A good move, that. It will make him feel useful.”

“I know, I know,” Merlinnus said, pushing him back down on the bed. “And, Arthur—I was not fooling about sleep. The infirmarer has given you enough syrup of aloe in that posset to put a horse down. So let it take effect, or you will be regretting it in the morning.”

Arthur yawned. “I am already regretting it.” But he lay back on the bed like a small, bidden child, the smell of violets around him. The infirmarer had sprinkled his pillow with dried flowers known to bring uninterrupted sleep. In minutes the king was snoring.

 

B
UT MERLINNUS
did not sleep that night. Long he looked into his books of magic, his scrying mirror, and the various parchments on which he had made notes about spells. He hummed through his nose as he read, and he coughed and hawked up sputum, wiping his nose and mouth again and again on his voluminous sleeves.

Soon the floor was littered with things the mage had read and discarded. Gawen kept trying to pick them up and place them carefully away.

“Go to bed, boy,” Merlinnus said at last. “You are making too much of a fuss for my liking. Magic needs silence and contemplation.”

Gawen knew better than to point out that Merlinnus himself was a roomful of noise. Instead, shutting the door, Gawen went down the stairs, not to sleep but to relieve Kay at the kings door.

Merlinnus did not even hear Gawen go. He was too deep in thought.

“I know Morgause is behind the attack,” he muttered. “I am certain of it.” But he could not figure out how she did it.
A dagger that wields the man instead of the other way around? Quite a piece of wizardry, that
. He had to admire the skill behind it, even as he hated the maker.

But his own skill was greater, as she would soon find out.

And, as Arthur himself had said, no harm done. The assassin died, the king slept, and a larger magic was about to be unfolded.

When the sun rose, the old mage went to bed. No wiser, but wise enough.

 

 

 

 

IV

Now the sun on the churchyard floor made the slate look like water. The stone with its hard prow and metal rudder seemed some alien boat afloat on a grey sea. Where the boat was headed, though, no one seemed to know. Or care
.

22

T
HE NEXT DAY
a marvel was discovered.

A shepherd named Tom, going after three of his missing sheep, stumbled into the high tor. He went at first daylight; he would never have ventured in otherwise. The small wonder was that he returned, with the sheep
and
all his wits. Especially because he'd so few of them before, or so ran the gossip. He returned as well with a tale of a greater wonder inside the vaulted chamber.

“A stone,” he said, “with a sword sticking out of it, like a knife in butter. A sword. Fit for a king. And words.”

The people in the town laughed at that description and they puzzled about the words, but like Tom, they could not read, so how were they to know what was meant?

Tom was not the sharpest man in the crowd, but he was smart enough to tell his wife and she went directly to the priest about the discovery. The priest, in turn, was quick enough to tell a guard, who was interested enough to mention it to the captain, who was intrigued enough to tell Sir Kay, who, as always, told everything to the king. Along the way Tom, his wife, the priest, the guard, and the captain let bits of the marvel loose into the ears of the people of Cadbury until all the castle and the village was abuzz with it.

 

W
HEN
K
AY REPORTED
what had been told him by the captain, Arthur turned his grey gaze toward the ceiling as if all the answers to life were written there. He had slept well, almost—so he thought—like the dead. Then he crossed himself quickly, in case such thoughts brought bad luck. He doubted Kay had slept at all. “Let us go and see this great wonder.”

“It might be a trick,” Kay said.

“Of course it is a trick,” Arthur answered. “But I still want to see it. We will go in force. A guard of fifteen, I think, plus Cassius.”

“Do I send for the mage?” asked Kay. “We could use his protection.”

Arthur shook his head. “The last person I want on this little trip is the wizard. But his boy can come.”

Kay waited for him to explain further. When he did not, Kay bowed and went to form the party. He did not always agree with Arthur, but he knew when
not
to push.

So he found the captain of the castle guard, Cassius of the White Hand, so known because he had been wounded badly in a battle as a young soldier and his hand had almost bled out to white before it was tended to. Kay instructed Cassius on the particulars of the mission.

The captain nodded and was quick to gather fifteen of his best men.

Next Kay went to the kitchen, where he suspected he might find Gawen.

“Ye've just missed he,” said Cook. “Carrying and fetching for the old man.”

“A big tray of stuff,” added one of the boys, a snuffling truant with a missing front tooth. “He will be slow a-stairs.”

Kay turned on his heel and left at a run. He caught up with Gawen on the last set of steps, the ones up to the mage's tower.

“There's to be an expedition,” he said stiffly. “You're to come.”

Gawen turned those blue eyes on him. “An expedition?”

“Into the tor.”

“At whose behest?”

Kay opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, like a trout out of water. He was not used to being questioned by boys. “The king's.”

Nodding, Gawen said, “I'll tell Merlinnus.”

Kay leaned forward. “The king says not to bother him.”

“But—”

“King's orders,” Kay said, laying a finger to the side of his nose and winking. It was his way of pulling Gawen into his small conspiracy.

“I
have
to tell him.” There was steel in the boy's voice, which surprised Kay.

“Best not,” Kay returned.

“He will know, anyway. He always does.” Gawen's usually open face seemed to shut down. “You do not want to anger a wizard.”

“
You
do not want to anger the king,” said Kay.

They stood toe-to-toe, glaring peevishly at each other, when the tower door suddenly flew open. Merlinnus peered out. “Is that my breakfast?” he asked in a wavering voice.

“Merlinnus.” Gawen turned. “There is an expedition—”

“I am not well today,” the old man said, waving a hand at them. “Go in my place, child. Tell the king.”

Gawen went up the last of the stairs, handed the mage the tray, closed the door quietly, then turned to gaze down at Kay.

Kay stared back.

They both had triumphant looks on their faces, but neither one spoke a word more as they hurried down the stairs to meet with the king.

 

T
HE SOLDIERS CAME
behind the king and Kay and Gawen, marching in the old Roman style: two straight lines, counting off as they went. Captain Cassius marched with them. The counting was to show they were fearless, or so they would have their enemies believe.

The first four were bowmen; the rest carried spears and swords. Over their outer tunics, they wore their fighting leather tunics, and over that each wore a coat of mail with a leather belt at the waist.

If the captain had had his way, there would have been double that number of men, but Arthur had refused.