Arthur

'Truth to tell, Bear, I have learned no love for them. Take the crown and let us be gone from this miserable place.'

Cai grew indignant. 'How long do they think their precious walls would stand if not for you, Artos? Let the Picti have it and be done.'

'I have come here to receive my kingship in the place where my father took the crown. When I have done what is required, we will leave this place.'

Arthur was received by the governor of Caer Lundein, a fatty haunch of pork named Paulus, who viewed all the world beyond the portico of his palace as unbearably backward. But Paulus had not scaled the height of his ambition without learning the uses of deceit. So he welcomed Arthur, his round face wreathed in jowly grins, right hand raised in friendship, left hand grasping the dagger behind his back.

Governor Paulus only waited to see which way the wind blew to know how to deal with Arthur. A battlechief from the north country was an unusual sight in Caer Lundein. Dux Britanniantm someone said – very impressive, very Roman. High King? Well, there were kings, yes; some were officially recognized. Pendragon? How charming, how quaint. Very rustic, in all; very refreshing.

Bedwyr was not misled by the fulsome governor's effusive welcome. 'He is a lizard, Artos. Do not believe a word he says. I would not drink a drop of his wine either, if I were you.'

'We satisfy the law in coming here,' Arthur told his retinue. 'Nothing more.'

'What law?' wondered Cai.

'The law established when the great Caesar first set foot on this island.'

'Which is?' asked Bedwyr.

'Every ruler must conquer Londinium if he is to hold Britain.'

'I have never heard any such law,' scoffed Cador. 'What is so exalted about this crumbling heap?'

'It stinks of urine and slops,' sneered Gwalchavad. 'From what I can see, the citizens of Caer Lundein are kin to barbarians.'

Arthur heard their complaints and explained patiently yet again. 'We are not staying here a moment longer than necessary. Once I have done what I came to do, we are away for CaerMelyn.'

When they had supped with the governor, Arthur and his retinue left the palace precinct and rode to the church – the same in which Arthur had stood and divers times pulled the sword from the stone. That keystone was now firmly in place in the central arch. Hundreds of people passed beneath that stone every day without realizing it. To them it was just an ordinary block of stone in an ordinary arch.

This is how many men perceived the Kingdom of Summer. Since it did not wear its great goodness emblazoned in shining gold, they did not esteem it. They simply passed by without a thought or glance at the very thing which kept the roof from crashing down upon their stupid heads. They passed by and knew it not.

Upon reaching the church, which had been besieged by die Cymbrogi, Arthur was met by the Bishop Ufiwys and gaunt Archbishop Urbanus. Both men were genuinely happy to see Arthur. They had heard from the monks who served with the Cvmbrogi how Arthur had conducted himself honourably in war, and how he had given gold for the rebuilding of the ruined churches. They were pleased to welcome him and bless him as was right.

Like Aurelius before him, Arthur shunned the governor's palace and embraced the church. He lodged there until his crown-taking could be completed.

The great Emrys was already at work making the necessary arrangements. He had sent to Dyfed for good bishop Teilo, the saintly Dubricius, and his young helper Illtyd.

This was not done to slight Urbanus. The plain fact was that the ever-ambitious archbishop had compromised himself by grasping after earthly power and could no longer serve God with a whole heart.

Myrddin Emrys wisely set Urbanus aside, saying, 'As Arthur is a man of the west and north, and will return there to rule, it is only fitting that those who must serve with him also commission him to his service.'

Urbanus may have felt affronted by these words, but he could not argue with them. Also, he was somewhat relieved not to be seen commending Arthur. Who knew what might befall? If Arthur proved unworthy it would be better not to have had anything to do with him. Relief battled with wounded pride – relief won. 'Yes, I do agree with you, Myrddin Emrys,' the archbishop said politely. 'I will leave it in your hands, and in God's.'

I am not lying when I tell you this was the best thing Urbanus could have done.

While these matters progressed, kings, lords, nobles and chieftains began descending upon the city. Some had ridden with Arthur in battle and already owned him king, others had supported him through tribute and were ready to acknowledge him, still others knew nothing of him and the summons caught them unawares. Nevertheless, they all came. For a new High King was to be crowned; and, whatever they thought of Arthur, this was not to be missed.

From Lloegres, Berneich, Rheged, Gwynedd, Dyfed, Mon, Derei, Dal Riata they came. They all came, yes, and from the Saecsen Shore came Aelle, now Bretwalda of the Saecsen kind, with his carles and kinsmen: Cynric and Cissa and Cymen.

Others came too: Ban and Bors of Benowyc across the sea; Cador of Cerniw; Samson, Bishop of Eboracum, and his abbot, Caradoc of Carfan, together with a fair company of monks and priests; Meurig of Dyfed and Silures; Ulfias of the Dobuni; Brastias of the Belgae; Idris of the Brigantes; Cunomor of Celyddon; Fergus, King of Ierne; and many more – each with a goodly retinue.

Of gifts there was no end. Each lord strove to embarrass the other with feats of generosity. Gold and silver glittered in the form of armbands, tores, brooches, bowls, and ornaments of innumerable kinds. There were colourful gemstones and pearls of great value, enamelled pins of cunning filigree, and boxes of scented wood carved with the interwoven figures of fantastic animals; new-made spears by the score, horn bows and flights of arrows, trained hounds for hunting, shields embossed with gleaming brass and painted cowhide; casks of golden mead, and vats of ale; gifts of grain and leather, butter, salt, honey; and also beef, pork, lamb and fowl. More, in short, than can be told and believed.

Arthur's second king-making was as near to his father Aurelius' as the Wise Emrys could make it. He even schooled the churchmen in the words they should pronounce. The ceremony was performed in the church and witnessed by the assembled lords, the Cymbrogi, and as many of the self-appointed dignitaries of Caer Lundein as could squeeze themselves through the doors.

What they saw is well known. It has been reported from one end of this worlds-realm to the other – and even in Rome and Jerusalem!

At dawn, on a spotless morning in the height of summer, Arthur entered the church, accompanied by Bedwyr and Cai on his left and right, and Myrddin walking slowly before him. Though the Exalted Emrys was blind, he had learned such craft with his rowan staff that it served him better than sight. Behind Arthur came Illtyd, bearing a circlet of gold.

The four walked the length of the church, passing among a congregation struck dumb by the singular sight of Arthur: tall, erect, regal in every stitch and sinew, arrayed in a tunic of pearl white over trousers of leaf green, a belt of red-gold disks at his waist and a golden tore at his throat; his cloak of deepest red. His fair hair was trimmed and brushed back from his temples. His placid blue eyes were fixed on the altar ahead and filled with reverent joy.

At Arthur's entrance, the holy brothers of Urbanus' order began chanting the gloria. 'Gloria! Gloria! Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo!'

Glory! Glory! Glory to God in the high realms!

Before the altar Dubricius and Teilo waited, lit candles in their hands. The entire church shimmered and danced with candlelight like tongues of apostolic flame kindling the spirits of all who gathered there with holy fire.