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 drew the weapon from the rock.
“Now you will come with me, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, High King of all of Britain,” a strong authoritative voice said, and the old man with the staff stepped from the shadows of the courtyard.
Arthur turned. “Who are you? And who did you say I am?”
“You are the only son of Uther Pendragon, and his wife, Igraine, who was once wife to Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall,” the old man said.
“Nay, old sir, you are mistaken. I am Arthur, younger son of Lord Ector of Wales,” Arthur responded politely.
“You are Ector’s fosterling, Arthur Pendragon. I brought you to him myself the night you were born. He knew not who I was,” the old man replied.
“Who are you?” Arthur asked, curious now.
“I am Merlin the Enchanter,” was the answer, “and ’twas I who placed the sword in the stone, and put a spell upon it so that only the rightful king of all of Britain might take it. All the lords of this land have been here before you to attempt to draw this sword forth from the stone. All have failed. ’Tis you, Arthur Pendragon, who is Britain’s rightful High King. Now, put the sword back into the stone from whence you drew it, and wait for me while I go to gather the lesser kings. You will then take the sword from the stone a final time before witnesses, and be proclaimed High King.”
“Is this why I could not wed with Lynior, Merlin?” the young man asked.
Merlin nodded. “You have your fate to follow, my lord, as Lynior has hers. She will give you a son in the spring, and from him will a line of Pendragons be born down through the centuries.”
“Lynior’s son cannot be king after me?” He didn’t understand.
Merlin shook his head. “None will follow you, Arthur Pendragon, though you will have one other son. I cannot prevent his birth though I would if I