Merlin

R5 Gerraint: The Sword in the Stone, part 3 of 3

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“Friends, and sometimes enemies.”  The people laughed, but not very loud, and they looked around at their neighbors.  “We have gathered because there is too much fighting and bad blood being spilled in our land.  No one is safe and nothing is getting done.  Worse.  The Germans, Picts in the north, even the Irish are taking advantage of our squabbling. A man works hard on his land to build something only to see it stolen by a neighbor or an invader.  It is not right.  It has to stop.”  He paused while the gathered Lords nodded their general sense of agreement.

“The Roman had been right about one thing. Things worked better when we had a high chief, a Pendragon to judge the right and wrong of it between us, and to call us to arms to defend the borders against the invaders that surround us. Things were better under Uther.” Pelenor had to pause then while the people shouted, “Uther!  Uther!” and cheered the idea of a new high chief.  When they settled down, Pelenor continued.

“Now, many of you are here because you understand. You have had your crops burned, your homes attacked, your wives and children threatened and in danger.  Many of you have come at the urging of the church.” He nodded at the Bishop.  “The church understands and prays for us who are like sheep who have lost our way.  Then, some of you are here on the invitation of Meryddin who fought beside Uther and Ambrosius before him, and had foreseen the trouble of these days. Here then, in the courtyard of the stone, we must choose a new man to lead us in battle.  We will all give a little when we answer the call to arms, but we will gain a lot in the peace and security we win for our homes and families.” The crowd cheered again and strongly approved of that plan.

Meryddin stepped forward and called for quiet before he spoke.  “When the Roman placed the sword in the stone, he claimed to be no prophet.  But he also claimed the hands of the true high chief would be the only hands able to draw the sword.  Caliburn, which by my art I have discerned to be the sword’s true name, is not a sword to trifle with.  But it would save us much trouble if the matter can be decided simply, in the way the Roman designed it.  I have tried the sword and cannot draw it.”

“Nor I,” Pelenor mumbled.

“But I say, let all who wish now try the sword first, and let even the squires take a turn.  It may be one of the young will be chosen to grow into the Pendragon.”

People objected, and the noise got loud.  Most common sounded something like, “I’ll not take orders from a boy or a squire or someone who is not full grown.”  Meryddin had a time quieting the crowd.  Then he shocked everyone as he turned to the Bishop.

“What says the church?”

Dubricius stood, stared at Meryddin and wondered what the Druid might be scheming, but he spoke what he knew because he had seen the Pendragon in a vision and could not deny it.  “Young men grow.  Let the squires take a turn.”  The crowd looked stunned to silence.  It was nowhere near the truth, but common wisdom said the clerics and Druids were total opposites and never agreed on anything.  The silence remained until one man pointed out that the squires were all in the courtyard the day before and all tried the sword, and failed.

“Not all!”  Gerraint’s voice rang out from the back, and he grabbed Arthur’s arm and dragged him forward.  “Arthur didn’t try it,” he said, as the crowd parted to let them through.

“Gerraint didn’t try it either,” Arthur yelled when they broke out into the open court.

“Yes I did,” Gerraint lied.  “I tried it when no one was looking.”

They came to the stone and both Meryddin and Dubricius smiled, knowingly.  Gerraint raised one eyebrow at that, but pushed Arthur forward.  “This is Arthur,” he shouted for whatever Bogus or Dumfries might be listening.

“Don’t laugh,” Arthur said.  He put his hands on the hilt and pulled a little.  The sword moved.  He felt as shocked as anyone as he pulled it cleanly from the stone.  The crowd erupted, and at first, it did not at all sound positive.  Percival at the back got the squires all yelling, “Arthur!  Arthur!”  But the Lords just made noise until one thought stood out.

“Put it back.”

Arthur turned to the stone.  He did not look sure of what to do, but Gerraint felt glad he did not tell Bogus and Dumfries to demagnetize the sword.  Meryddin looked disturbed at the development, but Dubricius continued to smile as Gerraint yelled.  “Putting the sword back in the stone.”  Arthur looked.  He found a slot in the stone where the sword had been.  “Go ahead,” Gerraint said.  Arthur did, and felt the sword slip from his hands when it got half-way in. Loth stepped forward from the crowd.

“By my father who died fighting Danes and Jutes, who died defending your homes from dreaded invaders, I say we need a man to lead us in battle, not a boy.  I will pull the sword myself, and that will settle it.”  He reached for the hilt and tugged, but the sword was stuck fast. Several other men stepped up and gave it a try, bringing more and more frustration to the crowd.  At the last, Loth drew his own sword and hacked at the rock and the exposed hilt until something like lightning shot out from the stone and deposited Loth ten feet away, shaken, but not badly damaged. That quieted the crowd again.

“Arthur’s turn,” Gerraint shouted, and shoved Arthur in the direction of the sword.  “Arthur’s turn,” he said again, and Arthur easily drew the sword cleanly from the rock.

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MONDAY

No good fortune comes without responsibility, and no human promise goes without testing.  Next week, R5 Gerraint: The Test.  Happy Reading.

 

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R5 Gerraint: The Sword in the Stone, part 2 of 3

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Gwillim interrupted.  “I thought the Norwegians were completely new, like only in the last ten years or so.”

“And don’t forget the Irish threat in those days,” Tristam added on the side.

“No, the Norwegian shore has been invaded for some time,” the Bishop said.  “Our own Loth knows the trouble there very well.  And yes, we should not forget the Irish.  In fact, when Ambrosius died and Uther became Pendragon, he built many forts along the Welsh coast to defend against that very threat.  But now, Uther has been gone for twelve years, poisoned, like his father.  And neither Ambrosius nor Uther had sons, and there are no more brothers.”

“So, will they find one to pull out the sword of the Roman?” Gwyr asked.

“I fear they will not,” the Bishop answered. “I fear they will choose one at random, and like the people of Israel who demanded Saul for king, the choice will most likely be a bad one.  All of the Lords here have squabbles and grudges.  It is inevitable that no matter who is chosen, some will be unhappy.”

“But isn’t that always the case?” Gerraint asked.

“Perhaps so,” the Bishop said, and he stood with a final word.  “Sorry to interrupt.  Go back to your important meeting.  I was a boy once, too.”

The boys looked at each other in silence for all of a second before they ran to the courtyard of the sword in the stone.  The next hour got spent tugging on the sword, though Gerraint and Arthur only stood back and laughed.  Urien said he wiggled it and Arawn supported him.  Gwillim said he also wiggled it, but his brother Thomas laughed and denied it.  It did not take long before the game became two sides playing at war, but with sticks instead of swords.  Arthur’s group always won because Thomas was not much of a leader.  Gerraint avoided the game at first because he wanted to check something out.

Gerraint snuck out to the alley beside the church where they had a garbage dump and several perpetually brown bushes.  It looked sheltered and secluded enough for him to try something.  He called softly, “Hunters,” but nothing happened and no hunters appeared.  So he thought hard about his experience on the road. He grabbed what he imagined was a name. “Lord Pinewood,” he whispered, but the alley remained empty.  Finally, he put some command in his voice, though he still tried to keep the volume down so as to not attract attention.  “Pinewood.”  He got ready to give up when the elderly hunter appeared from behind a bush in the alley.

“Trouble young Lord?”  The elder grinned, while Gerraint shook his head

“I’ve been thinking,” Gerraint started right in, and stopped.

“And a good thing for a young man to do,” Pinewood encouraged, and his grin became a smile.

“Just now, when we were playing around the sword in the stone, I noticed something.  I don’t know if anyone else noticed.  But I saw something that made me think.”  Pinewood stayed patient.  Gerraint continued.  “I saw, whenever one got near to the stone, anything metal, their knives and such, I think iron, it did not seem to affect silver or gold, but the iron looked like it pulled toward the stone.  So I was thinking the stone is some kind of load stone.  It must be magnetized, and that is why the sword is impossible to pull out.”

Pinewood nodded.  “The sword, Caliburn, your sword is finer steel than can be made in this day. It is by virtue anti-magnetic. But it got specially treated, if I can say that, so the magnet could hold it fast.”

“Can it be demagnetized?”

Pinewood shook his head.  “Bogus and Dumfries have been arguing about that for fifty years. I believe the current thinking is to temporarily disrupt the magnet when the right hands are on the hilt.  Once the person intended has the sword, it can be demagnetized later.”

“Bogus and Dumfries?”

“A dark elf and a dwarf,” Pinewood said, and Gerraint knew he spoke true, even as Pinewood said it.

“Good.  That will be good.”  Gerraint was still thinking.  “But I better get back before the others miss me.”

“My lord.”

Gerraint paused.  “Is there something else?”

“We must know which hands are the right hands.”

“Of course.”  Gerraint laughed at himself for forgetting the main part.  “Arthur.  It has to be Arthur.”

Pinewood smiled again.  “I guessed, you know,” he said, and became fairy small, with wings and everything, and flitted rapidly out of sight.  Gerraint headed back inside, but ran smack into Meryddin who rushed around the corner with two men following.

“Move, boy.”  Meryddin shoved Gerraint, but only a little to get him out of the way, and Gerraint paused to listen.  The men turned into the alley.  “There is magic and fairy dust in this place,” Meryddin said.  “I can smell it.”

“They usually don’t come so close to a church,” one of the men responded; but then Gerraint felt it best to run so he did not hear any more.

All of the Lords, which is to say, chiefs of the many tribes and nations of the Gaelic peoples of Britain, Wales and Cornwall gathered in the courtyard of the stone first thing in the morning, along with the young Lords, and the squires, who were pushed back to the outside edges where they could barely see anything over the heads of their fathers.  The older ones knew the basic story.  Peredur said that anyone who was alive when the Roman planted the sword in the stone had to be a baby and could not possibly remember the deed.  Pelenor said this whole thing could have been avoided if Uther had a son.  His daughter Morgana, dabbler in the mystical arts though she may be, hardly qualified.  Then everyone grew quiet while the Bishop Dubricius said a short prayer for guidance and wisdom.

Dubricius stepped back to where he got surrounded by some twenty monks and clerics.  Meryddin stood on the other side of the yard with a dozen Druids to back him up.  This was a land where the new had come, but the old seemed far from gone.  Pelenor acknowledged that when he stepped up to the stone and addressed the crowd.

R5 Gerraint: The Road to Londugnum, part 1 of 3

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Gerraint kept close to his master, Pelenor.  His bright blue eyes peeked out from beneath long, curly dark brown locks with the attention of an eagle on its prey, while his right hand gently stroked his charger’s neck.  His horse wanted to run at the sound of approaching horses.  He held tight to the reins and waited, and good thing because Lord Pelenor’s horse jolted when the approaching men came into view. Dubricius, the Right Honorable Bishop of Caerleon nearly got dumped in the mud by his startled horse.

“Peredur!”  Pelenor shouted and waved.  “And Ederyn.”    Pelenor trotted out to meet them.  Gerraint and the Bishop stayed where they were.  The Bishop looked at the water that still dripped from the trees after the early morning rain.  Gerraint looked at the Bishop who Lord Pelenor charged him to guard at all costs. At fourteen, Gerraint the squire had learned to pay strict attention to what his master told him.

“Boy,” Pelenor called as he rejoined them with five riders in tow.  He presented the Bishop, and all of the others, except the old one with the long white beard, nodded their heads in a kind of bow.  “And this is my squire, Gerraint, son of Erbin, High Prince of Cornwall.  Gerraint puffed out his chest a little to show off the lion emblazoned on his tunic. To be sure, Gerraint did not know how long he would remain high prince since his father died.  His mother remarried a Roman named Marcus Adronicus.  She said she wanted a husband to raise Gerraint’s little sister, Cordella, but who knew if Gerraint might have more brothers and sisters and he might be cut off from his inheritance.

“My son, Percival,” one of the Lords said. “He is only twelve, but Ederyn here has agreed to take him on.”  Gerraint guessed the speaker was Peredur.  Percival removed the cooking pot from his head.  He had plenty of other pots and bags tied to his saddle and appeared more like a traveling merchant’s son than a proper squire. Peredur continued.  “My squire is Arthur, son of we don’t know who, because Meryddin here who brought the boy to me as a baby still won’t tell.”  He pointed last to the one with the long white beard.  The Bishop gave the man a hard stare.  Gerraint’s head shouted, “Merlin!  Gandalf! Dumbledore!”  Fortunately, Gerraint kept his mouth shut.

“Good running into you.”  Ederyn seemed a pleasant fellow.  “The closer we get to Londugnum, the more nervous I get, I don’t mind telling you.”

“Saxons to the west?  Angles to the east?”  Pelenor laughed.

“I think he sees Germans behind every rock and tree,” Peredur confessed.

Arthur came up to Gerraint and interrupted his concentration on the small talk.  “Hi, I’m Arthur, the dragon.”  He pointed behind to Percival who trailed, clinking and clanking.  “This is my younger step-brother, Percival the lemming.” Percival looked like he did not appreciate the nickname.

“He only chose the dragon because he has bad breath,” Percival said, but in a very quiet voice.  Arthur showed a fist and Percival quieted altogether.

“Goreu, the lion,” Gerraint said.  “That’s my name back home.”

“In Cornwall,” Arthur said.  “Goreu the Cornie”

“Cornish,” Gerraint corrected.  “You’re not a Brittie”

Arthur nodded.  “But Percival might be.”  He pointed.

“I’m a Christian, like our mother,” Percival spoke up again.  Gerraint noticed the Bishop listened in, and he looked like he might say something, but Arthur interrupted.

“Go on.  I’m fifteen, and that is plenty old enough to make up my own mind about that junk. I don’t know what I am.”

“I’m fourteen and a good squire, I hope.  My master, Pelenor is pretty strict.”

“Ha!”  Arthur spouted.  “I’m the eldest.  That means you have to do what I tell you.”

“Not a chance of that happening,” Gerraint said, with a sly grin.  Arthur studied that grin for a bit before he returned the same.

“I think I like you,” he said, but then Pelenor called them all to attention and they started again down the so-called road to Londugnum.  Percival put the pot back on his head.  It served as his makeshift helmet.  Gerraint kept his eyes and ears as open as he could.

Pelenor and Meryddin took the front, followed by Peredur and Ederyn.  They kept up a spirited conversation about who might be called on to fill the shoes of the Pendragon.  Uther had died some twelve years earlier and the Germans, the Irish, and the Picts in the north were all becoming bold in looking to extend their territory at British and Welsh expense.  Even the Scots, first invited by the Romans to live between the Antonine and Hadrian walls as a hedge against the Picts appeared dissatisfied with their lot and greedy for more, the ever-independent Ulster also feeling the pressure of the Irish and being overpopulated as it was.  Bishop Dubricius appeared willing to listen in from behind.  Gerraint thought that a sign of wisdom.  The three Lords thought it wise to keep Meryddin, the High Druid of the Britons and the Archbishop of Wales well separated.