But I, as the fire from the great rubies burned against my eyes, knew at last what the gods were doing. It was clear from the beginning, fire and dragon-star and the sword in the stone. And the message did not come through the smoke from the doubly-smiling god, it was clear as the flame in the ruby. Uther's sword would fail, as Uther himself had failed. But the other would not. It had come by water and by land and lay waiting now for this, to bring Arthur his kingdom, and keep and hold it, and afterwards go from men's sight for ever...
The King laid firm hold of the hilt, and drew his sword. “I, Uther Pendragon, do by this token give to Arthur my son — ”
There was a great gasp, then a hubbub of noise. Men cried out fearfully, “A sign! A sign!” and someone shouted, “Death! It means death!” and the whispers that had been stilled by victory, waking again: “What hope for us, a wasted land, and a maimed king, and a boy without a sword?”
As the sword came clear of the scabbard Uther lurched to his feet. He held it crookedly, half-lifted, staring down at it with ashen face and his mouth half open, struck still like a man out of his wits. The sword was broken. A handspan from the point the metal had snapped jaggedly, and the break shone raw and bright in the torchlight.
9
Uther dead did more than Uther dying could have done to control the panic that had swept the hall. Every man there was held, silent and still, on his feet, watching the High King as we lowered him gently against the back of the chair. In the stillness the flames in the torches rustled like silk, and the goblet Ulfin had dropped rolled ringing in a half circle and back again. I leaned forward over the dead King and closed his eyes.
Then Lot's voice, collected and forcefuclass="underline" “A sign indeed! A dead king and a broken sword! Do you still say, Ector, that God has appointed this boy to lead us against the Saxon invader? A maimed land indeed, with nothing between us and the Terror but a boy with a broken sword!”
Confusion again. Men shouting, turning to one another, staring about them in fear and amazement. Part of my mind noted, coldly, that Lot had not been surprised. Arthur, eyes blazing in a face paler than ever with shock, straightened from his father's body and whipped round to face the shouting in the hall, but I said swiftly, “No. Wait,” and he obeyed me. But his hand had dropped to his dagger and gripped there, whitening. I doubt if he knew it, or, knowing, could have stopped himself. The turmoil of astonishment and fear jarred from wall to wall like waves in the wind.
Through the commotion came Ector's voice again, harsh and shaken, but sturdily matter-of-fact as before, brushing aside the strands of superstitious fear like a broom clearing cobwebs. “My lords! Is this seemly? Our High King is dead, here before our eyes. Dare we oppose his plain will when his eyes are hardly closed? We all saw what caused his death, the sight of the royal sword, which yesterday was whole, broken in its sheath. Are we to let this — accident” — he dropped the word heavily into the hush — “frighten us like children from doing what it is plain that we should do? If you look for a sign, there it is.” He pointed at Arthur, standing straight as a pine beside the dead King's chair. “As one king falls, another is ready in his place. God sent him today for this. We must acknowledge him.”
A pause, full of murmuring, while men looked at one another. There were nods, and shouts of agreement, but here and there still looks of doubt, and voices calling out, “But the sword? The broken sword?”
Ector said sturdily: “King Lot here called it a sign, this broken sword. A sign of what? I say, my lords, of treachery! This sword did not break in the High King's hand, nor in his son's.”
“That's true,” said another voice forcibly. Bedwyr's father, the King of Benoic, was on his feet. “We all saw it, whole in the battle. And by God, we saw it used!”
“But since then?” The questions came from every quarter of the hall. “Afterwards? Would the King have sent for it had he known it to be broken?” Then from some speaker at the end of the hall, invisible in the press: “But would the High King have consented to hand it to the boy, if it had still been whole?” And another voice, which I thought was Urien's: “He knew he was dying. He gave up the maimed land with the broken sword. It is for the strongest now to take up the kingship.”
Ector, darkly flushed, broke in again: “I spoke the truth when I talked of treachery! In good time did the High King present his heir to us, or Britain would indeed be maimed, torn apart by disloyal dogs such as you, Urien of Gore!”
Urien shouted with anger, and his hand went to his dagger. Lot spoke to him, sharply, under cover of the tumult, and he subsided. Lot was smiling, his eyes narrow and watchful. His voice came smoothly: “We all know what interest Count Ector has in proclaiming his ward High King.”
There was a sudden, still pause. I saw Ector glance round him, as if he would have conjured a weapon out of the air. Arthur's hand clenched tighter on his dagger's hilt. Then suddenly there was a stir from the right of the hall, where Cador stood forward among his men. The white Boar of Cornwall stretched and hunched itself on his sleeve as he moved. He looked round for quiet, and got it. Lot turned his head quickly; it was evident that he did not know what to expect. Ector controlled himself and subsided, rumbling. All around I saw the frightened men, the waverers, the time-servers, looking to Cador as men look for a lead in danger.
Cador's voice was clear and totally lacking in emotion. “What Ector says is true. I myself saw the High King's sword after the battle, when his son handed it back to him. It was whole and unmarked, save with the blood of the enemy.”
“Then how is it broken? Is it treachery? Who broke it?”
“Who indeed?” said Cador. “Not the gods, for sure, whatever King Lot may think. The gods do not break the swords of the kings they favour with victory. They give them, and give them whole.”
“Then if Arthur is our king,” cried someone, “what sword have they given him?”
Cador looked up the halclass="underline" it was to be seen that he was expecting me to speak. But I said nothing. I had drawn back to stand behind Arthur in the shadow of the King's great chair. It was my place, and it was time they saw me take it. There was a kind of waiting pause, as heads turned to where I stood, a black shadow behind the boy's white and silver. Men shuffled and murmured. There were those here who had known my power, and there was no man present who doubted it. Not even Lot; the whites of his eyes showed as he looked askance. But when I still did not speak, there were smiles. I could see the tension in Arthur's shoulders, and I spoke to him in silence with my will. “Not yet, Arthur, not yet. Wait.”
He was silent. He had picked up the broken sword, and was gently fitting it back into its scabbard As it went, it gave one sharp flash and then was quenched.