Arthur smiled ingratiatingly. "Don't you like my name, Mr.Bittberg?"
But Bernie would not be dissuaded. "No, that's not the question. Is your name really Arthur Penn?"
Percy and Gwen were sitting riveted in their seats, Gwen chewing on her fist. Percy felt a cold sweat breaking on his forehead.
And Arthur did not flinch. "Is that really of interest?"
And now Shukin, an anchor for WNYW for twelve years, sensed that there was something brewing. "Mr. Penn," he said carefully, "you're not required to answer that. You're certainly not on any sort of trial here. But if it will," he chuckled pleasantly, "keep peace in the family..."
"Oh, very well. If you must uncover my deep, dark secret," said Arthur, "No. That is not my real name. It's shortened. My full name is Arthur Pendragon."
There was a mild laugh from the audience as Arthur said easily, "There, Mr. Bittburg. Are you quite satisfied?"
Baumann from the Voice, who had majored in English Literature, said, "Whoa! Great name!
Any relation to the Arthur Pendragon?" When he received blank stares from all around, he said helpfully, "You know. King Arthur. Cam-elot. That stuff."
Trying to avoid having his debate degenerate into a friendly chat, Shukin said, "If we could get back to the issue at hand-"
But Bernie's voice rang out. "Why don't you answer him, Arthur? Why don't you tell him? You are King Arthur, aren't you? You believe yourself to be the original Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons, son of Luther-"
"Uther," corrected Arthur.
"Thank you. Uther. You are him, aren't you? Aren't you?"
Shukin rapped with his knuckles on the podium and wished that he had brought a gavel. "Mr.
Bittberg, you can't be serious-"
But Bernie, sensing victory, wouldn't ease up. He took a step forward, his voice lowering in intensity, and said, "He's the one who's serious. Go ahead. Look me straight in the eye 146
and deny that you are the one, the only, the original King Arthur of Camelot. That you're fifteen centuries old. That you've been in a cave all this time and that you've returned to us because 'you're needed.' Deny it!"
There was a long silence. Arthur and Bernie stared at each other, each refusing to lower their gaze. Each trying to stare down the other. And Bernard Bittberg felt the full intensity of the man who was King Arthur Pendragon, felt the strength of his anger, the power of his spirit and grim determination. And he lowered his gaze.
And slowly Arthur looked straight into the camera, and in a tone as reasonable as if he were announcing the weather, he said, "It's true."
Gwen gave a small gasp. Percy closed his eyes, and Ronnie muttered to himself, "It figures."
"Yes," said Arthur. "I am everything Mr. Bittberg says. I was trying to keep it quiet because, frankly, I didn't want to use unfair advantage." He stepped to the side of the podium, interlaced his fingers and leaned on one elbow as if he were standing next to a fireplace mantle in his study. "I mean, after all... a cheap politician is a cheap politician. But a king . . .
good Lord! How could anyone possibly fight competition like that? And a legendary king to boot! No, my friends. I felt it best to keep my true identity a low profile, so as to give Messrs.
Bittberg and Goodwin a sporting chance."
The audience members looked at each other, unsure yet of exactly how they were supposed to react. A generation raised on canned laughter and applause signs occasionally has difficulty when it comes to spontaneity.
"But the word is out," said Arthur morosely. "Mr. Bittberg, for whatever reason, has decided to slit his own throat at this late date by guaranteeing the election for me. Ladies and gentlemen, it is I, King Arthur who stand before you." His mood shifted and he smiled broadly. "But perhaps it's better this way, for now I do not have to make pretense of being a man from this day and age. I can speak to you as a man from the past. A man who has seen what the world was, and who has watched what the world has grown into." There was genuine wonderment in his voice. "Good Lord, when I think what life was like in the old days.
Only a few piddling centuries ago, my friends! A mere droplet in the great flood that is time, and yet look how far that droplet called humanity has gone! It's incredible. Look at yourselves! By and large you're better fed than my people were. Better dressed. Healthier. Longer lived. Smarter. Taller," he said, with some regret.
"Yes. I have returned. Some of you, such as Mr. Baumann here, might be familiar with the legends. That I would return when the world needed me. But you've taken that to mean that it would be in your world's darkest hours. Well I'm here, my friends, to tell you that is not the case. I am here to tell you that you stand on the brink of a golden age. A time of potential learning and growth that could make all your previous achievements look like mud on an anthill by comparison. And I think that perhaps you're all afraid of what you can accomplish.
It's more than you can believe. And so you toy with the concept of self-destruction on a global scale. But I am here to lead you away from that. You have all the answers you need, right within your grasp. And I'm here to bring a fresh perspective, and a fresh understanding, and the knowledge to help you pick and choose the right way to go. And together, my friends, together... we can make it work. No, I recant that. Because I've seen what was, and I've seen what is, and I tell you that it is working. We can make it work better."
The words had not been delivered in a bible-thumping style. Instead they had been said with the quiet conviction of a man who sincerely believed every syllable of what he was saying.
Someone started to clap. Arthur didn't see who, but within seconds the entire studio was filled with the thunderous sound of applause. It lasted for a solid minute, and Arthur smiled through it. He didn't look at Bernie, or Archibald, or anyone at all in particular. He was looking at his mind's eye image of Merlin and thinking, Bloody hell, I should have done this months ago, eh, Merlin?
The director cut from the camera on Arthur to the camera on the audience, taking in the rousing and solid response.
Miles away, in New Jersey, Morgan Le Fey fumed as she stared at the TV screen. "I don't understand. It was perfect. My ploy of stealing Excalibur, that useless hunk of steel, succeeded in netting me my true goal, Merlin. Then with Merlin gone, Arthur should have become dispirited, demoralized. There was even my glorious fantasy that he would simply throw himself on his thrice-damned sword and end it all. Then the truth of his identity would be revealed on television before his precious voters, and he would be laughed out of politics as a total lunatic." She screamed at the television, "Stop your damned clapping! You're supposed to think he's crackers!"
Unsurprisingly, they paid no attention to Morgan. And then her eyes narrowed as she spied Gwen sitting there, her hands tight on her purse.
"All right, Arthur," she said in a low, angry voice. "If I can't take your ambition from you, I'll take your beloved Guinevere from you. Oh, you can't fool me. You may be angry with her now, but sooner or later you'll forgive her, like the moronic fool that you are. But I will take her from you, Arthur. On the eve of your would-be triumph, I will take her from you. And then I will use every sorcerous means at my disposal to bring your world crashing down!"
Sitting amidst the audience that applauded around her, Gwen watched Arthur and held her purse tightly to her. Concerned about what she was afraid would happen. Concerned about what she had to do.
Chaptre the Seventeenth
Rabbi Robert Kasman opened his door and saw an extremely scruffy-looking individual standing there.
"Yes?" he said cautiously, keeping care to have the chain lock in place on the door.
"Hi," said Chico. "I'm here to make sure you're registered to vote tomorrow. I'm with Arthur Penn, and-"