knew then it was the voice of the beggarman from the bluebell wood, and beside him was Bercelet, the shaggy deerhound I had once thought was a wolf.
‘Merlin!’ the crowd whispered. ‘It is Merlin.’
‘Then the sword in the stone is nothing but a trick,’ said one of Kay’s friends. ‘Just one of his magician’s tricks, and not a sign from God, as the Archbishop said it would be.’
‘Not true.’ It was the Archbishop himself, speaking as he came through the crowd. ‘It is from God that Merlin has his great powers. It was God alone who set this stone in the graveyard, and it was God alone who put the sword in it. And the words written round it are written by God Himself. I tell you it is God Almighty who had chosen this boy for our king.’
‘He can’t be,’ someone shouted. ‘He’s Kay’s bastard brother. Everyone knows it. Besides, he’s just a boy.’ And furious arguments broke out all around the churchyard.
Merlin held up his hands to calm them. ‘Hear me.’ He spoke softly, but everyone seemed to hear him. ‘This boy you see before you is Arthur Pendragon, and he is the rightful High King of Britain. His father – and he himself does not yet know it – his father was King Utha Pendragon, and his mother the Lady Igraine. He is born to greatness, born to save this realm, and chosen by God himself. When he was just a babe in arms I took him from his mother and father. I took him for safety’s sake, for I knew the king had enemy spies all around him, who would murder both the king and his heir, if they could. And I was right, was I not? Was not King Utha poisoned? This boy, this prince, this king I saved. And I saved him for you, and for all Britain. He was brought up in deepest Wales as Sir Egbert’s son, and as Sir Kay’s brother, but he is neither. He is your true born High King. This stone and this sword are the proof of it. But so that no man should ever afterwards challenge him, we will leave the sword in the stone until Pentecost. Anyone who wants may try to draw it out. I tell you now, though, that no one but Arthur Pendragon, King Arthur himself, ever shall.’ And the crowd knelt again before me and I felt Merlin’s firm hand on my shoulder.
For three months after I had drawn the sword from the stone I stayed in London, and Merlin tutored me day and night in the arts of kingship. King after king, lord after lord and knight after knight came to the Abbey churchyard and tried to draw the sword from the stone, and every one of them failed. Some went away in a fury, vowing they would never serve under any beardless boy king; but most came to me and knelt before me and swore their allegiance.
It was some time before Kay could bring himself to do it, and when he did he could not look me in the face. He asked pardon for all he had done. ‘If only I had known,’ he said. ‘If only I had known, I should not have done what I did, I should not have said what I said.’
‘What is past is past,’ I replied. ‘Stay beside me, Kay. Be steward of all my lands.’ I would never afterwards be able to trust Kay, I knew that; but I thought it wiser to have him near me where I could see him.
Merlin had taught me much already. He was always at my side, my mentor, my teacher and my friend too. He was there with me in the Abbey at the Coronation, as the Archbishop crowned me King, setting the golden circlet of kingship on my head. It was light enough to wear, but I knew even then, as I wore it for the first time, that the burden of kingship would grow heavier with each passing year. I should have been happy that day, but I was not. I was not overawed. I was not frightened. I was numb. Even then, after three months, I still could not believe what was happening to me.
At the feasting afterwards Merlin leant across and spoke to me quietly. ‘So now it begins, Arthur. With these good men and with others still to come, you will build the Kingdom of Logres, God’s own kingdom on earth, here in Britain. And it will flourish gloriously, for a while at least.’ He sat back in his seat. ‘A tree, however fine, cannot last for ever. Your tree too will one day wither and die, but from it a single acorn will lie dormant under the earth, until it is ready to grow again.’
As he spoke Bercelet came to lie down at my feet. Merlin smiled. ‘Remember the beggarman in the bluebell wood?’ he said. ‘Remember the robin in the Abbey churchyard? I have the power to change myself into whatever I like, whomever I like. And I can divide myself too, Bercelet is not just a dog, you know. He is my eyes and my ears. He is part of me. From now on, always keep him with you. Keep him and you keep me. Together, we will guide you and protect you.’
Then Egbert, my dear foster father, stood and raised his cup to me, and everyone stood with him. ‘To Arthur, our king, High King of all Britain. May you bring this poor country and her people out of darkness and into the light.’ And all around the hall they thundered their applause.
Under the table, I pinched my leg to be sure I was not dreaming all this. Bercelet shoved his great shaggy head into my hand and gnawed at my finger. His gnawing turned to biting. It was no dream. Arthur Pendragon was indeed High King of Britain. The tooth marks on my knuckles told me so.
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