HE’S GREEN,” SAYS THE SPADE-FACED KNIGHT.
“Then he needs your support,” the hooded man replies.
“He’s never spilt blood, has he?” asked the Knight of the Black Anvil.
“Nothing but milk,” replies the copper-colored knight.
“That’s not true,” says Arthur-in-the-stone. “I killed a man.”
“You?” jeers the copper knight. “What with? A bunch of feathers?”
“First with an elm branch and then with his own sword.”
“Nonsense!” says the spade-faced knight.
“He’s just a child,” scoffs the Knight of the Black Anvil.
“And you are the same men King Uther trusted?” the hooded man demands. “Three times Arthur has pulled the sword from the stone, and still you deny him. This boy is King Uther’s trueborn son.”
Now the huge crowd of townspeople surrounding the earls and lords and knights begins to cheer. They wave. They brandish cudgels and sharpened sticks. They stamp on the ground.
“The king!” they shout. “Arthur the king!”
“This is God’s will,” the archbishop proclaims, and he raises his crucifix.
Hearing this, the townspeople cheer more loudly. “Arthur!” they shout. “Crown Arthur!” And they begin to shuffle towards the knights, shaking their cudgels and holding up their sticks.
“All you knights are armed with swords and shields,” the hooded man calls out. “Are you going to use them against your own people?”
“Have faith!” declares the archbishop. “This is a matter of faith!”
“Is that what you’re going to do?” the hooded man demands.
“Arthur!” the crowd insists. “Arthur the king!”
“I warn you,” the hooded man says. “For each man you kill, a dozen will spring up. They will overwhelm you.”
Now the earls and lords and knights turn to one another. They begin to talk, and argue…
Quietly, I slipped out of my window seat. In the stone cell of my writing-room, I got down onto my right knee and closed my eyes. I folded into myself, quiet and compact as a nut, still cradling my warm obsidian between my hands. For a long time I waited.
“Arthur my king!”
“I swear my allegiance.”
“I will be your liege man.”
“Here and always.”
When I opened my eyes again, all the great men of Britain, earls and lords and knights, were kneeling in front of me: brave men and bullies, shrewd men, blunt men and the woolly-headed, loyal men, honest men, the unjust and grasping, and the men who stop at nothing— liars, man-slaughterers.
Five crimson eagles fly for me and the purple lion roars for me, three greyhounds bark for me, and a swarm of tiddlers, silver and rose, swims for me. Seven bright stars shine for me.
“You have all sworn oaths,” I say in a clear voice, “and I swear to you before Christ the Lord I will be loyal to you. I will be just to rich and poor alike. I will root out evil wherever I see it. I will lead you by serving you and serve you by leading you as long as I live.”
Then I turn to the archbishop. “Your Grace,” I say, “I have not seen my own mother since the day I was born. Will you send for Queen Ygerna and bring her here for my coronation?”
The archbishop inclines he head. “As Christ the Lord loved his own mother,” he proclaims, “it shall be so. And Christ the Lord will guide you.”
“Your own blood will lead you,” the hooded man calls out. “The nine spirits will nourish you.”
Then he raises his right hand, and sweeps back his floppy hood. It is Merlin! Merlin is the hooded man!
But of course! The same slateshine eyes; the same powerful, deep voice. How can I not have recognized him? Merlin! You gave me my wonderful obsidian, my seeing stone, and you’ve been there in my stone all the time, waiting for me to find you. It was you who counseled King Vortigern to drain the pool and you who changed King Uther’s appearance; on the day I was born, you delivered me to Sir Ector and his wife. And it was you who promised King Uther, my blood-father, that you would watch over me and come for me.
“Merlin!” I cry, and I reach out towards him.
Merlin smiles and unsmiles. “Arthur!” he says. “The king! But what kind of king? No, I haven’t finished with you yet. I’ve only just begun!”