Sword of the Rightful King (6 page)

“The North Queen sends assassins like spring rain,” Merlinnus said. “That does not mean the crops grow any faster or truer.”

Arthur leaned forward and growled. “You know I hate that kind of thing. Talk straight, old man. Do you mean you are not worried that one of her sons—whom we must accommodate, as they are highborn lords—will try to kill me while they are here?”

“No, I am not unduly worried about them.” But he was. He knew he could keep an eye on one boy. Gawaine had been easy to watch. But the messenger—and Arthur—had said “sons.” He could not remember how many Morgause had. She bred like a bitch—one litter after another. “Who is she sending?”

Arthur counted them on his fingers. “Gawaine will be returning. And his next-oldest brother, Agravaine. Then the twins, their names begin with a
G
. I cannot remember.”

“Twins...” Merlinnus was suddenly disturbed. Twins could be a problem. In magic, anything out of the ordinary troubled deep waters. If they looked alike, spoke alike...

“The youngest, Medraut, has remained at home.”

“Just as well,” the old wizard replied. “Four of that brood will be plenty.”

“
Should
we worry?” Arthur asked. “About Orkney dirks on a dark night, or a sword in the belly during a mock fight or—”

“Not you,” Merlinnus said. Meaning that he would do the worrying for both of them. He climbed the steps to the throne.

Arthur sighed and leaned back again. But his eyes were still steel and his mouth had thinned down to a knife's edge.

A guard opened the door and looked in. When he saw Merlinnus bending close to Arthur, he shut the door without being told.

“Now, about that sword in the stone—it is important for you to listen, Arthur,” Merlinnus said.

“I have already spent most of the morning sitting here on this hard chair listening to important things,” Arthur answered. “Or at least things that are important to the people who are doing the speaking. Merlinnus, you never told me that being a king was three parts ear to one part mouth.”

“If I had, you would never have taken the job,” muttered the old man into his tangled beard. He knew Arthur was a man for action, had been since a boy. “The Whirlwind” had been his nickname at Sir Ector's castle. The joke was that Arthur had never met a chair he liked. Or a sport he disliked.

“Most of the morning gone,” Arthur continued, “and I will have an aching head from it for the rest of the day. What kind of job is this for a king?” Arthur's right hand closed into a fist. “I want to be out hunting deer. I want to take my sword and right wrongs. But instead I sit all day on this thing.” He banged his fist on the wooden arm. “This hard chair. And I listen.”

Merlinnus nodded. “The ear is the seat of governance.”

“There you go again!” Arthur shook his head. “I sit with my bottom, Merlinnus; I hear with my ear. And what I hear from you is too hard to parse. It reminds me of Latin. And speaking of Latin, the first thing I had to deal with this morning were two quarreling
dux bellorum
. Or is it
bellori
?”

“
Belli
,” mumbled the mage, shaking his head. “Chiefs of war.” Arthur had never been a scholar, of Latin or anything else. He could read, but did not enjoy it. “
Belli
, my lord. It matters...”

“It matters to
you
, Merlinnus. And to the church. And to some old Romans who never bothered to learn our tongue. But as for the rest...”

“It should matter to you, too, Arthur,” said the mage, leaning forward and assuming his teaching expression, which consisted of lowering his eyebrows and sucking on his bottom lip. “Everything should matter to a good ruler.”

Arthur gripped the carved arms of the throne to keep from getting angry. Merlinnus knew that whenever Arthur was tired, and cranky with too much listening, he got angry.

Arthur gripped the throne so hard, his palms took the imprint of the carvings: a bear and an eagle. He turned his palms up, and Merlinnus saw the prints.

The dog saw them, too, for she was up now, and nervous because her master was angry.

“Listen, Merlinnus, I have no use for Latin or Romans this morning.
Use
matters. Not some old halfforgotten language that my people do not use. So, after the
dux bellori
—”

“
Belli
,” Merlinnus corrected automatically.

Arthur ignored him. “After them, I had to sort out five counterclaims from my head cook and his children. He should stick to his kitchens. His household is a mess. Then there were five chiefs down from the north who wanted no more than to lay eyes upon me, I warrant. Since I stood a head taller than they and shook hands with a grip they admired, they pledged themselves to the high throne. For now. Though I suspect that should I falter or lose weight or girth, or my gripping hand take the palsy, they will be on me like young lions on an old. And then I had to award grain to a lady whose miller had maliciously killed her cat.”

Merlinnus shook his head.

The brachet growled, then lay down again.

“Did you know, old man, that we actually have a law about cat killing that levies a fine of the amount of grain that will cover the dead cat completely when it is held up by the tip of its tail and its nose touches the ground? Kay found it in the
Book, of the Law
. Who thinks up these things?” Arthur raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “The miller owed the lady over a peck of grain.” He sighed again, and again combed his hair with his fingers.

“A large cat, my lord,” mumbled the mage.

“A very large cat indeed,” agreed Arthur with a rueful smile. “And a very large lady. With a lot of very large and important lands. Which she mentioned in every large and important breath. Now, why in Mithras' name should I care about Latin or a sword on top of a stone when I have to deal with all that?”

“In
Christ's
name, Arthur.
Christ's
name. Remember—we are all Christians now.” The wizard's tone turned sharp, and he held up a warning finger that was as gnarled as an old tree. His eyebrows began to lower again. “If you know Latin, you can know language and history. Know Latin to train your mind. As for the sword, it is
in
a stone, like a knife in butter, not on top of it. There's something of great import there. I know it. I know it. Else I would not have dreamed it.” He waggled the finger at the king. “I just don't yet know what it is I know.” He was convinced of that dream himself now.

“
You
can be the Christian, Merlinnus,” Arthur said simply. “Not me. I still have to drink bulls blood with my men in honor of Mithras.” He shivered. “Horrible stuff, bull's blood.” He shook his head and smiled that sweet smile again, only some mischief lay underneath it. Merlinnus could see the boy still in the young man. “And yet I wonder how good a Christian you really are, my old friend, when you insist on talking to trees. That's a Druids trick, not a Christian's. And once a Druid, always a Druid, as Kay says.”

“Your stepbrother, Kay, is a fool. And once a fool, always a fool,” muttered Merlinnus. “Even if he
can
read the
Book of the Law
.”

Arthur stood and put his arm over the mage's shoulder, speaking quietly but with passion into the mage's right ear. Merlinnus blessed him silently for such compassion. His left ear was growing quite deaf.

“Kay is sometimes a fool, indeed. No one knows that better than I. But even fools have eyes and ears. And—alas—tongues that wag at both ends. Do not dismiss Kay too readily, Merlinnus. He could do us both great wrong if he feels his honor slighted. He can do us much good if he believes himself valued. With the outermost tribes already spoiling for a fight, we need to be happy in our own household at least.”

“Your Latin may be awful, but you read people the way I read dreams,” Merlinnus said.

“Never so well, old man. But I thank you for the compliment.” Arthur straightened up and looked at the mage, considering. “Now go away, Merlinnus, and do not trouble me again with this sword and stone dream. I have more important business.
Real
business; not business of the imagination.”

“Pah!” Merlinnus spit out his reply. “Imagination is the only real business of a king.”

Arthur threw his head back and roared with laughter. “So you say until I show some. And then you will tell me, ‘Listening is the only real business...' or ‘Compassion is the only real business...' or something else you have just thought up.”

Merlinnus tried to think of a withering and indignant reply but could not, for this time Arthur had caught him out. They walked down the steps from the throne together.

“Oh, and tell the guard at the door to send in the next petitioner,” Arthur said. “
And
my counselors.” He turned back, climbing heavily up the two stairs as if he were himself the old man, though he was scarce twenty-two years old. Sitting down on the throne, he added almost as an afterthought, “Have them send in Kay, too.”

“Once I was all the counselor you needed,” said Merlinnus before slipping out through the door and, as usual, having the last word.

8

K
AY PUSHED PAST
the guards and into the throne room.

“That old humbug is up to something again!” he shouted. Kay was always too loud. The brachet stood up and, stiff-legged, made her way to the door, where a guard let her out.

Kay was still speaking. “Isn't he? Isn't he?” He came right up to the steps of the throne but stopped there, his respect for majesty overcoming his eagerness to learn what Merlinnus had been saying.

Arthur sighed. A real sigh this time, not a cover for a yawn. His stepbrother often affected him that way. He loved Kay and was exasperated with him in equal measure. “Merlinnus had a dream, that is all.” He was careful not to mention anything about spies.

Kay mulled that over for a moment, his hand toying with the silver brooch on his tunic before asking, “A dream about the assassins? We need to think about them, Arthur. We need to plan.”

Arthur shook his head. “Not the assassins.”

“A new dream or an old one?” Kay asked.

“One he says he dreamed three times in a row,” said Arthur.

“Then its true.
Its true
. You know its true. Or will become true soon enough. Anything dreamed three times in a row is...” His voice echoed loudly in the room.

“... is not necessarily true,” Arthur said.

“But everyone knows—” Kay abruptly stopped talking. He knew what Arthur's response would be. The same thing that Merlinnus had tried to drum into both of their heads when they were boys.

“Not necessarily true in every particular,” Arthur said. “Besides, there's no knowing if he dreamed the dream or simply
said
he dreamed it. He lies all the time, Kay, though always with purpose. And that purpose is the good of the kingdom, so I cannot call him on those lies. I can only listen and try to get at what it is he wants me to get at.”

Kay ground his teeth. It was not one of his more pleasant responses.

“I worry about how well I can figure things out,” Arthur continued. “I wish he would just say what he means straight.”

Kay pouted. “You always listen to him and not to me, Arthur. He is the liar and I never lie. So you should listen to me. Besides, blood is supposed to be thicker than water.”

“We are stepbrothers, Kay. We share no blood.”

“You
know
what I mean.” There was a whine in his voice now. A loud whine. It grated on Arthur's ears.

Arthur nodded. “I know, Kay. And I do value you. You are my oldest companion. My dearest friend.” It was true up to a point, but Arthur knew better than to go further. Conversations with Kay always tended to go off the track and into the woods. “But, brother, it is time to get on with the day's business. The real business, not a mage's dream business. And not a silly worry about assassins who may or may not be arriving. Remember, though, I have already ruled on two
dux
...” He hesitated, recalling Merlinnus' correction. “...
belli
. Met with five tribal chiefs from the north. Considered one large lady and one impossible cook. I am not in a good mood. Luncheon would be a fine idea, and the sooner the better.”

“It is not near time for eating,” Kay said loudly.
“There would be a riot in the hall if I told the crowd out there that you wanted to eat instead of rendering judgment. Some of them have been waiting three days now.” He pursed his lips. “But before we get to all that, I have something to make you happy.”

Arthur smiled at that. Or at least he showed his teeth. He looked more like a bear—which is what his name really meant—than a man when he smiled that way. It was a smile he reserved for people who annoyed him. And for his stepbrother, Kay.

“Not like that. A
real
smile.” Kay understood some things, though it always surprised Arthur when he did.

Reaching down the front of his tunic, Kay pulled out a piece of parchment. “The men did not like who was chosen for May Queen this year, and they have made a list of those qualities they think she should possess, so we will be better prepared next year.” He handed the parchment to Arthur.

Arthur read aloud slowly. Reading did not come easy to him—not the way riding or swordplay did—and he pronounced each word carefully. Also, the slower he read, the fewer judgments he would have time for.

 

“
Thre thingges smalle
—
headde, nose, breests
,

Thre thingges largge
—
waiste, hippes, calves
,

Thre thingges longge
—
haires, finggers, thies
,