At the Crossing Places (3 page)

A
RTHUR IS RISING OUT OF MY STONE TO MEET ME; HE
is breaking the dark water.

And now I see where I am: the same great hall where King Uther feasted and fell in love with Ygerna, consulted with his dukes and earls, and handed down laws. Here he lay prostrate with pain after he had been poisoned by the Saxons, and tried to sit up as he was dying, crying out that he had a son, giving him God's blessing, calling on his son to claim the crown.

A door opens at the far end of the hall and a woman walks in. I recognize the gentle slope of her shoulders and her slender arms, pale as stripped willow. I can see the color of her eyes, violet as the first wood-violets in March. It is Ygerna, my own mother.

Now Sir Ulfius stands up and rudely steps right in front of the queen.

“Here she is,” he shouts. “The rotten root! The black flower!”

Ygerna doesn't flinch. Like a woman who has learned to expect pain, she looks sadly at Sir Ulfius, then lowers her eyes and quietly listens to him.

“If this woman had told the world about her son,” Sir Ulfius growls, “her son by King Uther, we would never have been leaderless for so long. The Saxons harassed us, we fought one another, and all the while this woman, this queen, remained silent.”

Ygerna gently shakes her head.

“Isn't it true?” Sir Ulfius bawls. Then he rips off his right glove and throws it at the queen's feet. “If any man here thinks otherwise, let him say so, and I'll cross swords with him.”

“Sir Ulfius,” Queen Ygerna replies, “how could I tell you what I did not know myself? I have not seen my son since the day he was born. King Uther gave my baby to the hooded man, and he carried him away to foster parents.”

“If that is true,” says Sir Ulfius, loud and accusing, “the hooded man is even more to blame than you.”

“I gave birth to my first son,” Ygerna says in a low, steady voice, “but I do not even know his name. I do not know where he is or what has become of him.”

Now I see the hooded man, and yes, he is Merlin, as he always has been. He walks down the hall and he and the queen stand face to face. “Ygerna,” he says in his dark voice, “I told you once that everything has its own time.”

Merlin takes the queen by the right hand, and leads her up the hall until she's standing right in front of me.

My own mother! I could reach out. I could touch her…

Now Merlin takes my right hand. Gently he lays Ygerna's hand over it.

“Ygerna,” he says, “this is your son, Arthur. Your son.” Merlin's eyes shine silver as sunlight on slate. “Arthur,” he says. “This is your mother.”

Merlin takes a step backwards. Everyone in the great hall falls back into shadow and silence.

For one moment, for thirteen years, for time beyond time's
hurt, Ygerna and I gaze at each other. My own blood-mother. Her own son. We are feasters, we are tremblers, inside-out somersaulters, we are dreamers waking, strangers, red-eyed and dissolving.

Needles of silver rain, fat drops of golden rain, pricked and burst inside my seeing stone. They began to rinse and blur everything.

Then my stone went blind. I crouched over my story. My eyes stung with tears.

I
DREW IN MY BREATH.

“Yes,” said Lord Stephen. “The hanging.”

We stood side by side, and gazed at the enormous wall hanging. It must be fifteen feet long and ten feet high. The top half is divided into small squares, each of them beautifully embroidered with scenes of brightly colored people, animals, birds, buildings, flowers, trees. In the square in the uppermost left corner, a small boy is walking through a dark wood, hand in hand with his mother and his father.

“And this,” said Lord Stephen, waving at the bottom half of the hanging, which was just plain linen, “is the part of the story still untold.”

“Which story, sir?”

“The part still unlived,” said Lord Stephen. “You must ask Lady Judith to tell you all about it. It's her work.”

“She sewed all this?” I exclaimed.

“Rowena helps her, of course,” Lord Stephen said. “Now! This is our solar, and it serves the same function as your chamber at Caldicot. Here, I can talk to people in private, and Lady Judith and I sleep in the inner room. And then the third room's up those steps.”

“The third room?” I asked.

“You haven't heard of the third room!” said Lord Stephen, smil
ing. “That's where your right hand shouldn't know what your left hand is doing.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “At Caldicot we call it the latrine.”

I'm not sure whether Lord Stephen knows I'm left-handed, and whether he'll mind as much as my father. Perhaps it would be better not to tell him for the time being.

“Sit down, Arthur,” Lord Stephen said, and then he padded down to the far end of the solar and back again. He is only a small man, and I'm already taller than he is. He's quite stout, too, but he holds himself upright and stands very still.

“Well!” he said, standing with his back to the fireplace and lacing his pudgy hands over his stomach. “I must thank you, Arthur, for agreeing to come and serve as my squire.”

“Sir,” I said, “it's what I most wanted.”

“I liked your manner at the court,” Lord Stephen said. “The way you asked for guidance when I was trying that man for theft…”

“Lankin,” I said.

“Yes, you asked for guidance, but then you made up your own mind. There are far too many sheep in human clothing.”

“And wolves too, sir,” I said.

Lord Stephen smiled. “Now!” he said. “You won't find much difference between your duties as a page at Caldicot and those here as a squire. I suppose your brother has told you about everything.”

I stared at the rushes on the solar floor.

“No, I thought not,” said Lord Stephen. “Well, I'll expect you to dress and undress me, as you did your father…” Lord Stephen
hesitated. “Sir John, I mean. And then you must learn to arm and unarm me. I'll expect you to carve before me at table, sometimes to serve me. Do you know how to carve?”

“Not yet, sir. I know the words.”

“Good,” said Lord Stephen. “Words, yes! I want you to study with Haket, my priest. Read with him each afternoon. Practice your writing each day. In addition to this, I've asked Rahere to teach you to sing and dance. You may think you've never heard a man talk so much nonsense, but Rahere's nonsense sometimes makes very good sense.”

Dressing and undressing; arming and unarming; carving and serving; reading and writing; singing and dancing…I kept wondering why Lord Stephen hadn't mentioned the crusade.

“All in good time, Arthur,” said Lord Stephen, and he raised his right forefinger. “I can see you're impatient, but you can't run before you can walk. You must practice your Yard-skills, and above all your swordplay. Use the pel every day, and then practice your gymnastics. Then run round the courtyard three times in your mail-coat.”

“I will, sir.”

“Skills, strength, and stamina,” Lord Stephen said. “You're going to need them all.”

“When will we go, sir?” I asked eagerly.

Lord Stephen shook his head. “I'm sorry you have to practice on your own,” he said. “Maybe you'd like to join forces with Tom for a few days.”

“Tom!” I exclaimed.

“It's all right,” Lord Stephen said warmly. “I know he's your
half brother and Sir William de Gortanore is your blood-father. Sir John and Lady Helen have told me your history.”

I could feel the blood rising to my face.

“There's nothing to be ashamed about,” Lord Stephen said.

I am ashamed, though. I'm ashamed of my father. I don't know whether he cared for my mother at all—and I know he murdered her husband.

“Nothing at all,” Lord Stephen went on. “Many excellent young squires have been born out of wedlock. Sir John and Lady Helen are fine foster parents. Isn't that true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I've heard Sir John say that bravery means facing and accepting the truth.” Lord Stephen took a couple of steps toward me. “I agree with him. Sir John and I want you to go and talk to Sir William. As his son.”

“But I thought…” I began. “I thought we were going to join the crusade.”

“There's plenty of time for you to go over to Gortanore before that,” Lord Stephen replied. “What you may think or feel about Sir William is beside the point. He's your blood-father and he's responsible for your inheritance. It's your duty, and in your own interest, to meet him and talk to him.”

“It's worse than you think, sir,” I said in a low voice.

“What's always worse,” said Lord Stephen briskly, “is worrying about things rather than doing them. As soon as you're well settled in here, I'll arrange for you to visit Gortanore. Now, then! The crusade!” Lord Stephen stepped up to me and put his right hand on my shoulder.

“There's a great deal to do and a great deal to look forward to, before we can think of leaving. Sir John wants that Ludlow armorer…what's his name?”

“Turold,” I replied.

“Yes, he wants Turold to measure you up and make your armor, though I can't think why. It's bound to upset Alan, my armorer, and he could do it just as well. And then we must find you a warhorse.”

“A charger!” I exclaimed.

Lord Stephen took a step backward and screwed up his eyes. “A holy war can't happen all at once,” he said. “It's a huge undertaking. Thousands of knights, thousands of squires from all over Champagne and France and Flanders. Only a few from England though, more's the pity! Think of all the horses! The armor and the clothing. The ships. The food. So, where to begin? We begin here at home: We build up our strength, we perfect our fighting skills, we prepare our armor and weapons, we train our horses. Yes, and we pray to God. From this day on, you, Arthur, have your duties as a crusader, and together we must forge a lasting bond.” Lord Stephen smiled. “And then,” he told me, “you and I must travel to Champagne or Flanders and take the Cross.”

“I see,” I said doubtfully.

“You must be patient,” said Lord Stephen. “A crusade is not as simple as riding to Ludlow.”

“But we are going to the land oversea,” I said. “To recapture the Holy City?”

“That's certainly our aim,” Lord Stephen agreed. “Our eventual destination. But there are many ways of reaching Jerusalem, and
each way is tough and dangerous. We stand on the threshold of the very greatest adventure of our lives, you and I.”

“I can't wait, sir,” I said.

At Caldicot, everyone will be asleep. Tanwen in her cottage, carrying Serle's baby…Merlin and Oliver…In their chamber, Sir John, Lady Helen…

I know they care for me, but aren't they glad, really, now that I've gone away? Doesn't it make everything easier for them? Serle is. He has never liked me; he's always wanted me out of the way.

So where do I belong? Not at Caldicot any longer, and not at Gortanore.

I do trust my aunt, Lady Alice, and I know she trusts me, because she told me her suspicions about Sir William. But he doesn't like me at all. I think he may really have meant to wound me when he tested my swordplay before Christmas.

I'm thirteen, and Sir William has never once shown he cares for me. He must know Sir John has told me that I'm his son, but he hasn't sent me a message. Not one word…

If I have a home anywhere at all now, I suppose it is here with Lord Stephen. A knight needs his squire. So perhaps it's for the best that I'm going away, hundreds of days, hundreds of miles away from Caldicot and Gortanore and the March.

B
EFORE SUPPER, LORD STEPHEN SUMMONED HIS WHOLE
household to the hall.

“I've asked Rahere to compose a welcome-song for Arthur,” he said.

Hearing this, Scriff, the midden-dog, yelped and tore round and round, chased by all the fleas that inhabit him.

“Gubert!” barked Lord Stephen. “Get that beast out of here, or I'll have him skewered!”

When Rahere looked at me, I saw his eyes are not quite the same color: One is sky-blue, the other bluish green. He lifted his pipe—the one attached to a cow's horn—and mooed a melody, and then he sang:

“Welcome Arthur! Welcome to this motte.
Let this hall be home from home at Caldicot,
And less smoky than tonight.
Eia!

Your clothes don't fit, your shoes look tight.
Your blob nose got punched in some fight,
And your ears stick out.
Eia!

I've heard you're going to take the Cross,
But first you need armor and a horse,
And far better skills!
Eia!

Thirteen years young! You impatient colt!
We'll put you through your paces here at Holt,
And break you in.
Eia!
”

Rahere's long fingers danced on the pipe, and his bright notes dappled the gloomy hall.

“Welcome, Arthur! Welcome to the squire,
Who will set many a young girl on fire,
And then save her.
Eia!
”

“
Eia! Eia!
” shouted everyone in the hall. We all laughed, but then I found myself thinking about what Rahere left out. My mother…and having to talk to my father. Anian and Catrin hurried down to the kitchen and brought back three jugs of ale and a platter of cream cheesecakes, one for each of us—but they didn't taste as good as the ones Slim makes at Caldicot.

A
S SOON AS I RAISED THE FLOORBOARD IN MY ROOM
and grasped my precious stone, I saw that I was sitting on the anvil from which I had pulled the sword. And this anvil was resting on a huge block of dressed marble, with gold lettering cut deeply into it:

But the stone and anvil are no longer in the churchyard of Saint Paul. They're in the sanctuary of a huge church I've never seen before.

To my left stands my mother, her almond face pale in the gloom, and to my right stands Merlin with his floppy hood swept back, and beyond each of them there are forests of winking candles. The archbishop of Canterbury stands in front of me, and three priests are serving him. One grasps the archbishop's golden staff, and one nurses the royal scepter as if it were a baby. The third bears a scarlet cushion like an open Mass book, and on the cushion lies a crown of red Welsh gold.

In his left hand, the archbishop is holding a small earthenware pot. He dips his king-finger and middle finger into it, then draws them out, shining. He reaches forward and makes the sign of the cross on my forehead.

“
Vivat! Vivat!
”

One thousand voices. The calls and cries of all the great men of Britain and their ladies reverberate around the great church. They rise above themselves. They swarm around me like memories and promises.

“
Vivat!
Let him live!
Vivat! Arthurus rex!
”

The archbishop raises the crown from the scarlet cushion. He steps towards me again and holds the crown above my head.

I close my eyes. My eyelids are like moths, weightless and trembling.

Now I can feel it. The hoop around my head. The crown. It is my power, my gold guardian; but I am its prisoner.

“
Vivat! Vivat! Arthurus rex!
”

Once more the knights and ladies cry and call out. In their voices I hear long-suffering, imploring, and relief. I hear hope and prayer, I hear bridling and envy and anger, I hear intention and joy.

Now the second priest gives the archbishop the royal scepter, and as he places it in my right hand, I see its stem is ornamented with two beasts. Two dragons, hopelessly entwined, like honeysuckle and bindweed. One has a diamond eye, one a ruby, and their scales are tiny tiles of emerald and amethyst.

Merlin raises his speckled hands, and in his grand, dark voice, he calls out: “King Uther's son! Queen Ygerna's son! Arthur, the trueborn king of all Britain! We have been leaderless, bending our
knee to the Romans, succumbing to the Saxons. We have fallen out amongst ourselves, we have fought one another. But Arthur's time has come. Britain's time has come. At this feast of Pentecost, let each earl and lord and knight in this church step forward, one by one by one, and swear his king allegiance.”

At once a whole army of shawms and trumpets strikes up. They blare and bellow and slice through the gloom. They welcome the bright day to come.

Sir Pellinore, Sir Lamorak, and Sir Owain, and now the Knight of the Black Anvil: Each knight names himself, kneels before me, and swears to be my liege man. The spade-faced knight and the copper-colored knight, Sir Balin, Sir Balan…

And now Sir Ector comes forward, my own foster father, with his son, Sir Kay. Together they kneel. I know my father's right knee often hurts him, so I place my left hand under his elbow to support him.

“Sir Ector,” I say, “when you first knelt to me, I said you will always be my father. I told you that if ever I became king, you could ask me for whatever you wished.”

“You did, sire,” says Sir Ector.

“And you replied, ‘Only this. Kay is your foster brother. When you become king, honor him.'”

Tears are glistening in the corners of my father's eyes.

“Rise, Sir Ector!” I say. “Rise, Sir Kay!” And now I rise myself, and call out clearly: “Sir Kay! Before God and all these great men of Britain, I name you the foremost man in this country. I appoint you my steward.”

Sir Kay and Sir Ector bow and back away from me, and now Sir Baudwin kneels to me, and I name him constable of Britain. Sir
Brastias kneels, and I give him the Northern command, leader of all men loyal to the crown living north of the River Trent. Now Sir Ulfius! I don't like him much. He insulted my mother, Ygerna, and accused her of failing to reveal my name. Merlin says it's wise to hold a man like him at court where I can keep a close watch on him, so when he kneels and gruffly swears his allegiance, I put Sir Ulfius in charge of the royal household, and name him my chamberlain.

When each and every man in the church has sworn me his allegiance, I embrace my mother, and then I turn towards Merlin. Merlin looks at me, smiling and unsmiling, and then says in a low voice, so quietly that only I can hear him: “A king! But what kind of king?”

“A thousand men have sworn oaths to me,” I say, “but I am lost in the forest of my life.”

“True,” says Merlin, “some men here in this church of Westminster are against you. They may have sworn you allegiance, but they'd still gladly stab you in the back. But other men here, brave men, loyal men, would sacrifice their own lives to save their king. Petitions, pardons, and punishments; but worse, far worse, trickery and infidelity, the dark drumroll of war: There's no avoiding them. They're the sharp stones on the path of a king. But friendship and loyalty, love and adventure, defending the weak, feeding and clothing the poor: Arthur, these also will be part of your story.”

“But how?” I ask.

“You are not alone,” Merlin replies. “I helped your father, Uther, and three kings before him. You are the king who was and will be. For a while I will help you.”