Since then Britain has been at war with itself, as you must surely know. The lesser kings cannot agree on a High King. Now I have called a council to be held in London at the time of the Winter Solstice, which the Christians call Christ’s Mass. The new king will be chosen then by my hand, and you must be there with your fosterling, Arthur, and your son, Cai. You cannot refuse me.”
“Nay, I cannot,” Lord Ector said, “but why do you forbid Arthur his marriage to Lynior? What difference should it make to you?”
“Come to London at the Solstice, and you will see,” Merlin replied quietly.
Lord Ector sighed. “Lynior’s father will be very displeased, especially considering his daughter’s condition.”
“Tell him that Arthur will, at the proper time, recognize his child, and that neither his daughter nor his grandson will suffer for it. I will personally see that the maiden is given a husband of good family who will cherish her and her child. Tell him that Merlin the Enchanter has made this promise.”
“I will,” Lord Ector said, nodding, and then he blinked hard, for Merlin was gone. Shaking his head Ector of Gwynedd wondered just what this was all about. Well, they would know at Christ’s Mass, and not a moment before. Now he had the painful task of telling Arthur that he could not wed with Lynior; and the more difficult task of telling Lynior’s father. He sighed, and then calling for a servant, sent for his wife.
Maeve came, and he told her of Merlin’s visit. “Are you certain you were not dreaming?” Maeve demanded of him. “You imbibed a great quantity of new mead with your supper, husband.” She gave him a small fond smile.
Ector sighed again, and drew his wife down into his lap. “I was not dreaming, lass,” he told her. Her plump weight on his knees somehow gave him comfort. She was a good woman, and they had been wed for over twenty years now.
“So it was old Merlin himself,” Maeve said. “Ohh, I wish I had been here! And he has plans for our lad, does he? I wonder what they are. ’Tis unfortunate about Lynior, but if the Enchanter says he will make it right, then he will. You must tell Lord Evan as soon as possible.”
“And Arthur?”
Maeve shook her head. “Tell Evan first that he may tell his daughter as we tell Arthur. I see no reason why they should not remain friends. They have a child in common. I will come with you to Evan for he has a hot temper like our own Cai, and he prizes Lynior greatly especially as she is his only child.”
But strangely Lord Evan was not angry. “From the moment I gave my consent to the match,” he said, “I have been troubled each night with terrible dreams. Now I understand why. This marriage was not to be.”
“The Enchanter says he will personally choose a good husband for Lynior. One who will cherish her, and her child,” Lord Ector told his old friend.
“If I cannot have Arthur then I want no other,” Lynior said, entering her father’s hall. “I do not need a husband to be happy. I will raise my son alone, teaching him to be the good and honorable man his father is. Does Arthur know?”
“Not yet,” Maeve told the young woman who was to have been her daughter-in-law. “Merlin says Arthur will acknowledge his child.”
“It is a son, I carry,” Lynior said calmly. “I intend naming him Gwydre. Arthur’s fate must be very great that Merlin himself is involved.”
“It was Merlin who brought Arthur to us all those years ago,” Lord Ector said, “though we did not know it at the time who he was. But when a man appears in your hall in a rumble of thunder and a puff of smoke, you do not argue with him or ask his name.”
“You will go to London at the Solstice?” Lord Evan asked.
“Merlin has commanded it. The High King will be chosen then, he says. I am to bring Arthur, and Cai will accompany us as well,” Ector replied.
“You’ll not leave me behind,” Maeve said sharply.
The two men laughed, and Lord Ector said, “Nay, wife, I will not leave you behind. You shall come with us, and see the new king crowned.”
So Lord Ector and his family traveled from their keep in the north of Wales to London in time for the Solstice. The closer they got to the ancient city the more crowded the roads became. It seemed that everyone in Britain was gathering to see the new High King chosen by the great Enchanter, Merlin. Ector and his party were fortunate to find a single room to share in a small inn within the city. The men-at-arms who had traveled with them had to content themselves sleeping with their horses in the stables.
On the day of the choosing, Cai, Arthur’s older foster brother, discovered that he had not brought his sword with him, and he wished to wear it to the council. A warrior was not properly dressed without a sword. “Go find me a sword,” he told the younger boy.
“Where am I to find you a sword?” Arthur demanded. “I have no money. Do you think someone will just give me the loan of a weapon because I ask it?”
Cai cuffed the boy irritably. “ ’Tis your fault in the first place,” he scolded Arthur.
“You are in training to be my squire. What kind of a squire forgets his master’s sword? If we were going into battle I should certainly be at a disadvantage, shouldn’t I?”
“But you aren’t,” Arthur argued. “We’re just going to stand among the crowd and see the new High King chosen from among the twelve lesser kings, Cai.”
Cai knocked his younger companion to the ground with a hard blow, and then standing over him growled, “Find me a sword, youngling, or I’ll give you such a beating that you’ll not walk for a month!”
Arthur scrambled to his feet, and stumbled from the inn’s courtyard, his head throbbing from the blow. Cai had a foul temper, and it was no use arguing with him when he got like this. He wasn’t going to find a sword for his elder, but he could at least keep out of the range of his fists until it was time to leave for the choosing. He hadn’t wanted to come to London. But they had told him he was not to wed with Lynior after all, and he was instead to come to see the new High King chosen. He didn’t understand why that was so important, or what seeing the new High King chosen had to do with his marriage to Lynior. But there was to be no marriage now, and no one would explain to him why. His foster father had said bluntly that he didn’t know himself. It had just been ordained by a higher authority.
Suddenly a bent old man, leaning heavily on his staff, his black cloak covering him from head to foot, sidled up to Arthur and said, “You seek a sword, young master, do you not?”
“How did you know?” the young man said, surprised.
“Go into yon courtyard,” the old man said, pointing with a bony finger, “and you will find what it is you seek.” Then he hobbled off down the street, seeming to disappear before Arthur’s very eyes into the mists of the morning.
For a long moment the lad debated, but then he decided that nothing ventured, nothing gained. And wouldn’t Cai be surprised if Arthur did return with a sword for him? Striding into the grassy courtyard he saw a large boulder, and thrusting forth from it was a great sword with a bejeweled hilt. Upon the stone were carved the words “Who Pulls This Sword From This Stone, Is Britain’s Rightful High King,” but the boy did not see the words. He saw only the sword. Cai was going to be very surprised. He chuckled. Reaching out Arthur
