I nodded. "A few times. It's a miraculous thing to watch, isn't it?"
"Aye, it is that, although I've seen it but once. How did you see it the first time, can you recall?"
I smiled. "I had to be shown it, otherwise I would never have noticed it, or even thought to look. I had a teacher called Daffyd, a Druid, who found a place, one year when I was a mere boy, where several of the cocoons had been secured to a stone wall. He watched them closely, and when he gauged that they were ready to split, he brought me to the place and made me watch." The memory filled me with pleasure and I laughed aloud. "It took a long time—almost an entire day, as I recall—and he wouldn't tell me what we were waiting for. I had convinced myself that he had merely found a new and malicious way of keeping me from my games, making me sit motionless, peering at a brown and highly polished but utterly lifeless, uninteresting thing. It looked like some kind of insect, I could see, but it was undeniably dead.
"I remember I suffered the boredom stoically, at first, but then as the day drew on I grew more and more disgusted and fidgety—so much so that he eventually decided to forego the pleasure he had thought to win from my surprise, and told me what we had come there to see. It seemed utterly outlandish and impossible that a large, hairy caterpillar could have enclosed itself within that tiny thing—a chrysalis, he called it, and now that I think of it, I'd like to ask him where he heard that word, for it's Greek, the only Greek word I ever heard him use. Anyway, the caterpillar part was bad enough, but it seemed even more impossible that out of it would come a butterfly. And then it happened! The casing began to move, and to split, and out crawled a shaky little thing that unfolded to become a butterfly. I've never seen anything as lovely or as moving as the way its wings unfurled and dried. Why are you smiling?"
Derek shook his head very slightly. "Simply remembering how I felt, too. It shook me to the bottom of my being, and I was man full grown when I saw it. It was after I first met you, in fact, during Lot's wars. I was hiding, being hunted by some of your cousin Uther's people, and they were right on top of me. I was huddled against a rock and this thing, whatever you called it, was right in front of my face. It began to split open and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I mean, it was so close to my face, and so ugly looking I was disgusted. My flesh crawled and I wanted to vomit. But I could hear the voices of the people who were searching for me—they were almost within arm's reach, and I didn't dare move. And then the damn thing crawled out and stretched and spread its wings, and they seemed to dry out, and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. When it finally flew away, leaving the empty shell behind, I felt as if I had been robbed. I've never forgotten it, and I've never seen it again, but it taught me that sometimes things more glorious than you could imagine can crawl out from places that amaze you."
I said nothing, and after a moment, he continued. "But I don't think I'd go so far as to believe the damn things start out as creepy-crawlies ... caterpillars. That sounds like it came * from someone who'd had too much mead. I mean, think about it. You don't really believe that, do you? Butterflies come from eggs—strange-looking eggs, but eggs, nonetheless. Birds do, too—they break the shell and crawl out, feathers, wings and all. But the eggs are laid by birds. You don't hear anyone saying that things like worms wrap themselves in eggshell and then come out as birds. That's ridiculous."
I was grinning at him. "I wouldn't argue with you, Derek, but butterflies aren't birds, and that is what happens. It's called metamorphosis."
"What?"
"Metamorphosis. Another Greek word. It means a change of form. The butterfly lays eggs that hatch into caterpillars. The caterpillars then grow to full size and spin themselves a complete covering of some kind of material they produce in the way spiders spin webs. They wrap themselves completely in that covering and go to sleep for a long time, and when they wake up again and emerge from their covering, they're butterflies."
"Horseshit!"
I threw up my hands, laughing. "Fine! I won't argue with you, because there's no way for me to prove it, but it's the truth, I swear."
He favoured me with a long, considering look that dripped scepticism, then sat silent for a long time, so that when he spoke again his words took me by surprise.
"Like that boy of yours, young Arthur."
I turned my head to look at him. "I don't follow you."
"Meta-what-you-called-it ... He's changing into something very different."
"What d'you mean? You've lost me."
"He's changing. Arthur. Changing quickly. Growing up. He battered half the life out of my Droc this morning, right outside my door. Cracked his skull, I think, and broke a few bones belonging to Droc's cronies, too."
"By the Christ! Are you serious?"
"Of course I'm serious. Mind you, they deserved it, and probably more than they got. I had to lay down the law to the young louts, in terms they couldn't misunderstand. But Droc didn't hear me. He was unconscious when I arrived. Good thing Lucanus was in the town. He took him away and wrapped him in bandages from head to shoulders."
I was stunned. "I find that difficult to believe. Droc is twice the size of Arthur and years older. How could young Arthur have beaten him so badly? He's a mere child."
Derek began to scoff, then stopped, looking at me in disbelief. "A mere child? When did you last see him?"
"Who, Arthur? A few days ago, the morning he left for Ravenglass."
'Then you saw a different boy from the one I saw. I'm talking about young Arthur Pendragon."
"I know you are. So am I."
'Then one of us has ailing eyesight, and it's not me. Let me ask you again, in different words: When did you last look at him?"
I gazed back at him, considering his rephrased question. When had I last looked at Arthur closely, analytically? I did so now in my mind, focusing on how he had appeared to me that last morning, and I saw immediately that I had been less than judicious in my assessment of the boy. He was no mere child; Derek was correct. Arthur had stopped being a child long before today, but I had failed to note, to really register, the change.
In truth, at thirteen, nigh on fourteen, Arthur was almost as tall as the tallest among us—myself and Derek. He was still slight, of course—still gangling and unformed—but he was strong and well made, with ever-widening shoulders and the merest suggestion of dark fuzz beginning to appear on his chin and cheeks. I visualized his hands, long and slender yet filled with strength, with tapering, blunt fingers and thick wrists, corded and muscled with the constant exercise of swinging the wooden practice swords. Then I thought of his smooth, tanned face with its piercing, tawny- yellow eyes, sharply planed cheek-bones above a wide, laughing mouth with perfect, brilliant teeth, the whole head framed in long, dark-brown hair shot through with golden streaks and set on a thick, strong neck and shoulders that already showed the sloping musculature that would grow and thicken into massive manhood. Arthur Pendragon was growing up very quickly, I realized. I nodded, pursing my lips and sniffing to acknowledge that Derek had the right of things.
'Tell me what happened."
Derek reached into his tunic and produced a long, thin- bladed knife and a length of hollow reed on which he had evidently been working, carving it into a whistle.
"Well, on one level, two boys had a grudge fight. It happens all the time. But one of the boys isn't really a boy any longer, and he's a bully, to boot. Unfortunately, he's my son, and I'm not proud of that, but I've taken my boot * to his arse often enough to convince myself that beating him won't change him. Perhaps what happened to him this morning will have more effect than I've had. We'll see." He began marking the reed, preparing to cut notches along the top of it.