The Seeing Stone (24 page)

H
OW CAN EVERYONE SLEEP THIS LONG? THEY'RE LIKE
squirrels. Like dormice.

Nain and Serle and Sian and Ruth and Slim and Martha were all still asleep when I ran back into the hall, and my father and mother were still in their chamber, so I kept running. Up the stairs and along the balcony and into my writing-room!

In my stone and in my life, the old century has ended, the new century begun, and everything is quickening.

Or is it flying? Brian's and Joan's eyes must have been playing tricks on them. Had they drunk too much ale?

First my stone fizzes like sharp stars dancing on a freezing night. Then it grows quiet, it darkens and deepens. It invites me into it.

I can see my ears sticking out. My mouth opening like a fish. My wide nostrils. I grin; then I scowl, and bare my teeth at my stone…

Now I can see him. He's riding towards me, waving his sword.

Arthur! Arthur-in-my-stone! Take me with you!

My namesake trots onto the tournament field, past seven knights all dressed in orange and gold. Each knight is captive to a lady who holds a long orange cord attached to the bridle of his horse.

Raising the sword, I canter down the lists and past the long pavilion, until I reach the judges' tent. I see Kay waiting there, and sit straight up in my saddle. I brandish the sword. A slice of blinding sunlight!

Kay looks at the sword. He knows at once it isn't his, and he knows where it comes from. He bites his lower lip as Serle always does when he's nervous.

Politely I reverse the sword and offer the hilt to Kay.

“Thank you, Arthur,” he says. “Thank you very much.”

“I've never been to a tournament,” I say. “I want to see everything!”

“Ride around then,” Kay replies. “I'll find my father and meet you back here.”

Then I ride away, but my stone can still see Kay. He trots along the ground and finds Sir Ector at the far side of the pavilion, outside the second judges' tent.

Sir Ector stares at the sword.

“I got tired of waiting for Arthur,” Kay says, “so I went back into the city myself.”

“But that's not your sword.”

“No! I rode past the church and…I am the king, father.”

“You?”

“I am the king, I must be.”

At this moment, I ride back into the stone again.

I meet Sir Ector and Kay at the tent which looks like a castle, with knights waving banners and guarding it, and little turrets as green as beech leaves.

My father looks at me, and then at Kay.

“Follow me!” he commands us, and at once he spurs Anguish, and gallops straight out of the tournament field towards the church of Saint Paul.

“Father!” I call out. “Wait! I want to see the tournament. Please!”

It's no use, though. My words are no more than mouthfuls of air.

Inside the church, my father tells Kay, “Put your right hand on the Bible…Now! How did you come by this sword, Kay?”

Kay bites his lip again. “Arthur brought it to me,” he says.

“Then give it back to him,” my father says. “Arthur, how did you come by this sword?”

“I rode back to our lodging, but there was nobody there. Not one servant. The door was locked and all the windows were barred.”

“And then?” Sir Ector asks me.

“I didn't know what to do. Then I thought of the sword in the churchyard, and so I rode here as fast as I could. I pulled it out of the stone.”

“Was anyone guarding it?” Sir Ector says.

“No one, sir.”

“Kay,” snaps Sir Ector. “Stop biting your lip! You'll tear it to pieces.”

And now my father gazes at me; he looks right into me with his unblinking, silver-grey eyes.

“Then I believe you are the king of this country,” he says.

“I can't be,” I say.

“No one could draw this sword unless he's the trueborn king.”

“But I'm not.”

“Show me!” says Sir Ector, leading the way out of the church. “Can you fit the sword back into the stone and then pull it out again?”

“I think I can,” I say.

Now I slide the sword back into the stone, almost up to the hilt. Sir Ector steps up onto the plinth and tries to pull it out. He bends his back to it, but the sword remains fast in the stone.

“You try, Kay,” my father says, and Kay tries to snatch the sword out of the stone.

“Now you!” my father says, and I step up to the stone. I stare at the sword until there's nothing else in the world except for the sword and me. Then I grasp the hilt. All around us, a storm of sparrows rush to and fro across the churchyard. The biting steel and rough stone whisper; they softly sigh, as a grass blade sighs when it is drawn from its green scabbard, and I slide the sword out of the stone for a second time.

At once Sir Ector gets down onto his right knee, the one that sometimes hurts him, and Kay gets down beside him.

“Father!” I say, starting forward.

“No,” he says. “I am not your father.”

“What do you mean?” I cry.

“You are not my son, born of my blood.”

“Father!” I cry.

“Listen, Arthur,” Sir Ector says. “Before you were born, when Uther was still a king, a stranger rode in to Caldicot. A hooded man. This hooded man asked me and your mother to be foster parents.

“'To foster a boy unborn.' That's what the hooded man said.

“'Who are the parents?' we asked.

“But the hooded man could not say, or else he would not tell us.

“All the same, your mother and I were glad to agree. Your mother had been ill and was unable to have any more children, and we were glad of a sibling for Kay.

“'I will bring him to you when he is two days old,' the hooded man told us, ‘and you must raise him as your own son. Have him christened Arthur but, for as long as this century lasts, do not tell him he's your foster son. I will watch over him. I will come for him when his time comes.'”

“Father!” I cry.

“Now I know who you are,” Sir Ector says. “You are the son King Uther spoke of when I knelt to him. You are the son of King Uther and Queen Ygerna.”

I reach out for Sir Ector and Sir Kay, and raise them both to their feet. Should I be happy? I feel so sad.

“But you are my father,” I say. “You are the man I will always owe most to.”

Sir Ector and Sir Kay stand apart from me. There is a distance between us now, for all that we wish there was not.

“You've cared as much for me as for Kay,” I say, “and if ever I become king, as you say I will, you can ask me for whatever you want. I will not fail you. God forbid that I should fail you.”

“Sire,” my father says to me. “Only this. Kay is your foster brother. When you become king, honor him.”

M
Y HEART BEGAN TO QUICKEN AS I FOLLOWED MY
father into the chamber. He gestured to me to sit on one side of the Great Bed, and then he sat down in his dressing chair.

“Why now?” he began. “Why not yesterday or tomorrow? I know you've been impatient, haven't you?”

“Yes, father.”

My father stood up again. “I was the same when I was thirteen,” he said. “Well, firstly I've had to make decisions and arrangements, and they take time. Secondly, I gave a solemn undertaking…”

“To my mother, you mean?”

“Be patient! You'll understand why and to whom in good time. Now! Some of the things I have to tell you will make you glad. But some will not. You must be brave, Arthur, and bravery means facing and accepting the truth.”

“Yes, father,” I said in a low voice.

“I've tried to act in your best interests,” my father said. “I always have and I always will. So, then. Do you remember I said you'd make a good schoolman?”

My heart began to bang in my chest.

“Well?”

“Yes, father,” I said in a low voice.

“And so you would. You're that clever. That's what Oliver says, and Merlin as well. Yes, and I think you'd make a good priest, too,” my father said. “But what I believe is that you'd make an even better squire.”

“Father!” I cried, and I stood up.

“Sit down!” said my father. “A squire and then a knight. That's what you want, isn't it?”

“Oh yes!” I cried.

“You're good enough at your Yard-skills,” said my father. “Just about! Though you need to sharpen up your swordplay, don't you?”

“I will,” I cried.

“Anyhow,” said my father, “there's more to knighthood than fighting skills. A good deal more, though not all knights seem to think so. But first things first! Three years' service as a squire.”

“With you, sir?” I asked.

“You want to serve with me?” my father replied. “I thought you wanted to go away into service. The same as Serle.”

“It doesn't matter,” I said.

“Well, why have I gone to all this trouble, then?” said my father, smiling.

“You mean…”

“I mean,” said my father.

“With Sir William?”

“Certainly not!” my father replied very firmly. “I've arranged for you to go into service with Lord Stephen.”

“Lord Stephen!” I exclaimed. “But you said one de Caldicot would be quite enough for him.”

“I did, Arthur. But do you remember the manor court? Lord
Stephen liked the way you stood up for Lankin. ‘That young son of yours,' he said to me, ‘he's his own man.'”

“He said that?”

“He asked for you as his squire.”

“Asked for me!”

“So that's all right?”

I leaped up again and this time my father didn't stop me. I bowed to him, and then I embraced him.

“When will I go?” I asked.

“At Eastertide,” my father replied. “Your arm has almost healed, hasn't it?”

“Yes, father.”

“Well, now you must practice.”

“I will,” I cried. “Each morning.”

“Now!” said my father. “Sit down again.”

He dragged his dressing chair across the chamber to the side of the bed.

“This isn't so easy,” he said. Then he reached out and took my right hand. “Arthur,” he said, “you are not my blood-son. You are my foster son. And Lady Helen, she's your foster mother.”

First I stared at my father and prayed he wasn't telling me the truth. Then I lowered my eyes.

“I almost knew,” I said. My voice sounded very strange: as if it came from somewhere outside my body. “Fourth son. That's what it said on Luke's tombstone. Who is he, then? Who is my first father?”

My father cleared his throat. “Sir William,” he said.

“Sir William!” I yelped, and I pulled my hand away from my father's warm hand.

My father nodded. “My brother,” he said.

“But that means…that means Grace is my sister.”

“Your half-sister,” said my father.

“Who is my mother, then?” I demanded.

“Be calm,” said my father, laying his firm hand over mine again. “Sir William's your blood-father. I can't tell you who your mother is, because I don't know. A woman living on his manor.”

“At Gortanore?”

“So I believe.”

“You mean it's like Serle and Tanwen.”

“In a way, yes,” said my father. “But the fact is Sir William was already married. To Lady Tilda. So she and Sir William agreed it would be better if the baby—if you, Arthur—were taken away.”

“Better?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Who for?”

“Everyone,” said my father.

“Not for my mother,” I said bleakly.

“So Sir William asked Lady Helen and me whether we'd foster you. And that's what happened, Arthur. We were glad to have a brother for Serle because Lady Helen had been very ill, and we supposed she'd never have another child. And anyhow, I wanted to help my brother.”

“But Grace,” I said.

“I know,” said my father. “This does mean, of course, that you can't be betrothed to her, and I know that's what you hoped.”

“We both did,” I said sadly.

“But you're not losing her,” my father said. “She's your own half-sister. We'll find you another wife.”

“Does Sir William know you're telling me?” I asked.

“That's why he and Lady Alice came over before Christmas,” my father replied. “To discuss everything.”

“And to wound me,” I said.

“Yes, well…” said my father grimly.

“I thought you were talking about our betrothal and my going into service.”

“Sir William and I had this understanding,” said my father. “We were free to bring you up as we chose on condition I didn't tell you anything until now.”

“Why now?” I asked.

“Because now you're old enough to understand. Last night was a crossing-place. Today is a starting-place.”

“Who knows I'm Sir William's son?” I asked, “except for you and my mother?”

“Nain,” my father replied. “Nain and Merlin. That's all.”

“Not Serle?”

“No. He was only three when Sir William brought you over. And we led everyone on the manor to believe you were Lady Helen's own baby.”

“Lady Alice,” I said. “She knows.”

“Well, she does now,” said my father slowly, and he pursed his lips. “I think I'd better tell you the whole story, Arthur. Your aunt Tilda died in giving birth to Grace, very soon after that, Sir
William married again, he married Lady Alice and didn't think it was a good idea to tell her everything…”

“About me, you mean?”

“About you, yes…and everything.”

“What, father?”

My father frowned, and then sniffed. “Your blood-mother, Arthur, well, she was married. But you know how forceful Sir William is.”

“Yes, father.”

“Well, one Sunday morning, your mother's young husband stood up in church and accused Sir William, and threatened him. In church! In front of all his tenants! Can you imagine?”

“What did Sir William do?” I asked.

“Not long after that,” said my father, “this young man disappeared. He just disappeared.” Slowly, very slowly, my father drew in his breath: It sounded like water beginning to seethe in a pan. “I don't know,” he said. “I don't! But there were more ugly accusations. I do know there were rumors that he was murdered.”

“That Sir William murdered him,” I said.

“But no one could prove it,” said my father. “Still, you can see why Sir William didn't want Lady Alice to know. Her own parents were dead but her guardian uncle would never have agreed to their marriage. So he kept quiet. But of course Alice hadn't been married long before she heard about the sending away of a baby and a young man's disappearance. But I don't think Lady Alice ever knew there was a connection between them and Sir William.”

“I think she may have done,” I said.

“You do, do you,” said my father, and he looked at me thoughtfully.

“Father,” I said, “how do you know all this—about the husband's threats in church, and the rumors?”

“Thomas!” said my father abruptly. “He's my brother's messenger, but he's loyal to me.”

“I don't like Sir William,” I said. “I don't care whether he's my father or not.”

“I understand,” said my father quite calmly. “But this is a time for facts, not feelings. Lady Helen and I have brought you up, but Sir William's responsible for your inheritance. You are listening?”

“Yes, father.”

“You know Sir William owns three manors—the one at Gortanore, and one at Catmole and one over the sea in Champagne? He has set aside the estate at Catmole for you, Arthur. And without that…”

“Serle told me you didn't want me to be a squire,” I said. “He said that if I became a knight, you'd have to give me a parcel of Caldicot land, and that would weaken the manor. He said I'd never be able to make a good marriage. He said…”

“What?” asked my father gently.

“He said I was…” My throat tightened. “He said I was…I was a cuckoo.” And with that, I burst into tears.

My father sat quietly beside me, his right hand over mine once more. He waited while I sniffed and snuffled like a dismal mole.

“Serle's jealous,” said my father. “He's been afraid you'll take away the ground he stands on.”

“Have you told him?” I asked. “What you've told me?”

My father shook his head. “No,” he said.

“Can I tell him?”

“I will talk to him first,” my father replied. “You go and find Lady Helen and comfort her. I do believe she thinks she's losing a son.”

“Lady Helen's my mother,” I cried, “and she's the woman I'll always owe most to. You are my father.”

“And you're no cuckoo,” my father said. He stood up and stretched. “You're your own young man.”

I reached out, and my father pulled me to my feet.

“I'm proud of you,” he said. “Who we are isn't only a matter of blood; it's what we make of ourselves. And you, Arthur, are fit to be a king!”