Dragon's Child (56 page)

‘His Jewish name was Simeon, but we at Glastonbury have always called him Simon. He is a Christian now and has come to this land expressly to follow in the footsteps of his Lord.’

He looked around the assembled group.

‘I see by your faces that you consider his race accursed, but the Lord Jesus was also a Jew, so how could I bar Simon from the monastic life he craved? Simon is skilled in the use of herbs and simples, and he can cure many ailments that would normally cause death. Most importantly for your purposes, he is also highly skilled in working with precious metals. For many years, Simon would not use his God-given skills, but preferred to toil in the fields and the orchards, as if only hard, physical labour would expiate some sin in his past. He is now our blacksmith, but his fingers have not lost their cunning. I expect that Simon would make the hilt of Artorex’s sword, if I ask it of him.’

All the Celts looked doubtful. The Jews were a hated race, although the reason for this loathing was lost in the mists of time. Simply put, Jews were not to be trusted, because the whole world knew they devoured infant children.

Perhaps we always need someone to bear the brunt of our own shame and anger, Gruffydd thought with sudden insight.

‘Then you shall use the earrings, the gold and the jewels in the box I gave you, for they were part of Uther’s most treasured possessions,’ Myrddion suggested.

Artorex slammed his simple wooden cup down on the table.

‘I’ll not take anything else from that bastard,’ he shouted.

‘But, Artorex, my friend, they weren’t his gems,’ Myrddion replied. ‘As far as I can ascertain, the pearwood box contains trophies taken from many of his victims. His servants told me how they saw Uther toying with these gems from time to time, and how he gloated over the souls of those who had stood against him and were, ultimately, defeated. The baubles weren’t his to keep.’

‘Then it is possible that these jewels are now the property of Morgan.’ Artorex was adamant, but Myrddion knew he had the better hand in this particular game.

‘The earrings belonged to your mother, part of her dowry, according to Lucius’s recollections. She wore them on the night Uther first saw her face.’

‘She wore them again on the night you were born, my king,’ Lucius added. ‘How she suffered! Trickery had brought Uther to her bed, she’d seen her husband’s head set on a spear point, she’d been raped by her husband’s murderer and now she was bearing her ill-conceived child. She could so easily have rejected you. Many women would have wanted to have you killed and seen to it long before they came to childbed. But Ygerne carried you to full term, and she placed those gems in her ears when she felt the first birth pangs in the palace of Venta Belgarum.’

Artorex almost gagged, so deep was his disgust for Uther Pendragon.

Lucius gazed deeply into the eyes of the new king. ‘Ygerne chose to cleanse those defiled baubles with new life. She knew what Uther would do to her in the years ahead, the daily violent rapes while he was still potent, and the many indignities that she would endure to keep her daughters alive. Perhaps she hoped that you would avenge Gorlois, or nullify the death and suffering that had laid waste to her life. I could not know her mind, but her purpose was pure, for Ygerne is a frail and beautiful soul.’

Artorex was spellbound, for this was the first time he had been made fully aware of the suffering experienced by his mother.

‘I was present at the birthing, Artorex. I had been summoned to assist the king’s confessor, Branicus, who feared Uther above all living creatures. When you were born, poor Ygerne cried out for her baby and she managed to suckle you but once, before Uther ordered the bishop to take you away and expose you to the wind and the snow. I can assure you that she wept most bitterly for her dead son.’

Lucius paused.

‘But Branicus was a true man of God. He couldn’t cast a healthy child upon the snowdrifts and live to sing the Mass or shrive other souls in the confessional. However much he desired to convince Uther Pendragon to embrace Mother Church, he could not, at the last, damn his own soul for what he earnestly believed would bring the greater good. He entrusted your life to me - and the rest you know.’

‘Uther’s hand took the earrings from Ygerne’s ears, for all that she begged to be allowed to keep them,’ Myrddion continued the tale gravely. ‘He would not even allow her the solace of memories. The midwife told me so. She had no reason to lie - for Uther had her murdered within the week to still her tongue. I think his madness began when he stole the innocence of Ygerne over her husband’s mutilated corpse. I often saw him toy with those jewels and gloat over them, although I did not understand the evidence of my eyes at that time. He owned far more precious gems, including many baubles that vanished after his death, but not even Morgan dared to gaze upon the objects of Uther’s madness.’

‘It is a veritable Pandora’s Box,’ Lucius added to the blank incomprehension of most of the men in the room.

‘As you say, Lucius, it’s a Pandora’s Box,’ Myrddion said sadly. ‘But instead of unleashing the ills of humanity on the world, these objects are symbols of defiance, love and the refusal to accept tyranny, even if denial means death.’

Myrddion examined his hands as if he saw, and smelt, traces of blood still upon them.

‘Do not reproach yourself, Myrddion,’ Lucius advised softly, with infinite compassion. ‘You kept the dragon in check as well as any mortal could, and you diverted his worst excesses into useful pathways. Your cunning held the west safe against the Saxons and, most of all, you and your friends wrought Artorex into the man he has become. I am human enough, and sufficiently Roman, to hope that Uther rages at you still from Hades.’

‘Very well,’ Artorex said. ‘I accept that my mother’s earrings will shrive the evil from the crown.’

‘And the sword?’ Myrddion asked. ‘The chain of power used by Gorlois, the rings, and the bands and torcs of all those nameless men who lost their lives in defiance of Uther should make a hilt for your sword that can cleanse and rejuvenate the weapon. In that way, your hands will always touch clean metal.’

‘Yes, the sword as well,’ Artorex replied. ‘You win, old man.’ His temper was still uncertain, but he was now a little mollified. ‘If I’m to accept your advice, I’ll require that the hilt should mirror the pattern of my dragon knife.’ He pulled the weapon from its scabbard and placing it reverently on the scarred wooden table.

‘Forgive me, Father Lucius, for baring this blade at holy Glastonbury,’ he added apologetically.

The bishop smiled his permission and turned to one of his monks.

‘Boniface, my friend, please ask Brother Simon to join us. And I would be grateful if you could bring me the pearwood box that lies on the chest in my cell. Thank you, my friend, for sparing the bones of an old man.’

Artorex marvelled at the grace of the orders given by Lucius, and how tasks were turned into pleasures under his smiling gaze.

This man would have been a better king than Uther. And he would be better suited to the task than I can be, by far, Artorex thought regretfully.

‘My friend, I serve Mother Church, so earthly power is not for me,’ Lucius said as if he had entered the secret compartments of Artorex’s mind. ‘When I was younger, and learned the cost of our losses on the battlefield, I was driven insane. I came to learn that it is only men with great strength and moral courage who can ensure that power does not corrupt. Your path is more difficult than mine, for I am not forced to test my soul with temptation, day after day, for the remainder of my life.’

Perhaps God has given this priest the ability to read my thoughts, Artorex pondered. I would not be surprised, for his sanctity is certainly beyond doubt.

Gruffydd had followed the conversation concerning Uther’s relics with interest. He was surprised at the amount of wickedness that the great ones indulged in, and was even more amazed that the common folk never realized that their lords and masters manipulated them. When the crowds cried their acclaim for Uther, they had known that he had been responsible for the murder of the Boar of Cornwall, but they also wanted to believe the romantic nonsense told by the storytellers of Uther’s great passion and how Lord Myrddion had used magic to deliver Ygerne into the High King’s bed.

The people will believe anything, Gruffydd marvelled to himself. Still, I’m interested to see what a Jew looks like.

Gruffydd was soon to discover, with some disappointment, that there were only minute differences between Jews and Romans.

He looks quite ordinary, really, Gruffydd decided as Simon entered, his hands tucked into his homespun sleeves.

Simeon, or Simon, as Lucius called him, was a blue-jawed, black-eyed man whose face was ruddy from working at the forge. His hands, while heavily calloused, were very delicate. Mostly clean-shaven, unlike many of his race, Simon’s mouth was full and red, and his nose was long and narrow across the nostrils.

Lucius smiled a greeting towards the Jew.

‘Our guest, Lord Artorex, is soon to become the High King of the Britons. He has paid us the honour of requesting a boon from you,’ Lucius said.

‘I’ll do anything you ask, Father,’ was the quiet, unemotional reply.

‘The sword that you reforged for me needs a hilt that must be made as a match to this dagger, so they become paired pieces, if you like. Can you complete this task, Brother Simon?’

Brother Simon picked up the dragon dagger with an odd reverence. ‘This is beautiful work, for all that it is wrought in iron. The man who forged this hilt was a master craftsman.’ Simon’s hands ran over the curiously shaped hilt and hand guard with obvious pleasure.

‘The maker was a village smith from the fringes of Aquae Sulis,’ Artorex responded with the natural pride of ownership. ‘He felt he owed me a debt, and repaid me with this dagger.’

‘Yes, I can make such a hilt. But the sword of a king needs embellishment, as does this beautiful knife,’ Simon stated. ‘I can feel the man in this weapon, for he is an artist, one who understands the fire in the metal.’

‘We have “the embellishment”, as you call it,’ Myrddion responded.

At that point, Brother Boniface returned with the pearwood box balanced delicately on his open hands. At the direction of Lucius, Brother Simon opened the box and inhaled a small breath of appreciation when he saw the contents. Item after item was placed on the rough planks of the table, as the Jew gave a running commentary on the quality of each ornament.

‘These earrings are very fine - and weren’t made in these isles. One of my race made these delicate links, and cut these garnets so that their dark beauty is softened. These rings are only large gems in raw gold,’ he continued. ‘They are powerful, but were wrought without any real skill. They were made in the far north. As for this chain and those torcs, they are old, very old, the little honey people shaped them once, but they have been remade, and the perfection of the metal cries out for a noble purpose. Yes, they could make a wondrous hilt for the sword - and also embellish the hilt of the dagger.’

The men around the table nodded in satisfaction.

‘But lords, gold is soft, especially gold as pure as the metal in these objects. Why, this gold is almost red! A hilt and a guard of such a metal would be beautiful, but it would also be dangerous to the bearer of the sword. The first strong blow would carve through the hilt like butter.’ He gazed into the eyes of Artorex. ‘Lord, do you intend to actually use this sword in battle?’

‘Aye. The sword is a symbol of leadership, so I’ll need it in battle as a rallying point for my warriors,’ Artorex replied.

‘Then permit me to suggest that I make the hilt and guard out of tempered iron that is forged to a metal that is as strong as I can devise. I’d then coat the entire surface with this buttery gold. The small detail of the designs can be of pure metal, but I’d feel I betrayed you if I made a hilt that could cause your death. I’ve enough stones here, and enough gold, to cover your dagger many times over, so the pair should become a perfect match.’ He smiled at Artorex. ‘I’d prefer not to compromise so fair a weapon with any work that is unworthy of the man who originally forged this dagger.’

‘Very wise words, Brother Simon,’ Artorex said gratefully. ‘If Lucius agrees, I’d ask you to take my dragon blade and the sword of Uther and make them into matching weapons. Make them fair and glowing, but make them strong. Shape them to inspire awe and fear in the enemy, for I’ll have need of every advantage I can find.’

Brother Simon bowed deeply to Artorex and would have taken up both blades and the contents of the box had Artorex not plucked the red-gold crown out of his travel bag and dumped it unceremoniously on the top of the table.

‘There’s one further matter I’d like to discuss with you, Brother Simon. I don’t like the crown used by Uther Pendragon. It represents many vices that I abhor, including all those faults in Uther’s character that I dislike. The crown must also be reforged in a suitable design of your choosing so that it will be fair to the eye. And, once the task is complete, I’d ask Father Lucius to give his blessing to this new symbol of the British realm. Can you carry out this task in addition to the sword and the dagger?’

‘Yes, my lord, I can do it. And it would be my pleasure to do so,’ Simon replied with a smile of gratitude for the honour he had been offered.

‘The earrings in the box belonged to my mother, so I’d be pleased if they were to become a part of the new crown. Can this be done?’

‘Yes, my lord. It can be done.’

‘Finally, it is my wish that the pearl on the pearwood box should be made into a ring for the thumb of my right hand.’

‘That’s not a difficult task, my lord. It will be done.’ Brother Simon glanced up under his brows at Artorex and then down at the crown. ‘Lord, you see these challenges through clear eyes. This crown is ugly, for it is heavy, cumbersome and ostentatious in its present form. I will make these objects, which will be fit for you alone, so that many men will say, I saw Artorex the Fair, and I was dazzled by the crown in his hair!’ Then Simon blushed, for he wasn’t accustomed to displays of personal vanity.