From that point, he had gone on to tell the story of the Saviour's Last Supper, and of His consecration of the sacred bread and wine, and every man and woman in the throng of thousands came forward to share the Eucharist distributed by all the bishops from the endless baskets and ewers brought forward for the Blessing and Consecration. When the Sacrament had been concluded, Enos went on to describe the Saviour's Passion and His Crucifixion at the third hour of the afternoon, bringing his oration to a close at very close to' that third hour, when he led the congregation in reciting the Creed again, and then observing a long moment of silence.
Now, he intoned, the world was all in spiritual darkness, and would so remain until the dawning of the third day. Then, with the Resurrection of the Flesh, all the world would rejoice, and mankind would know salvation and the rebirth of hope. As he spoke, a group of bishops moved about the sanctuary, draping and covering all the symbols of the Church—the candelabra, sacred vessels, monstrances and crosses—with purple mourning cloths, after which the gathering was blessed and dismissed.
I had never been caught up in the rituals of religion, but what Enos showed me, in that simple yet convoluted ceremony, moved me deeply, stirring fresh regret that Tress could not have been there to share it.
I realized suddenly that Enos had stopped talking, and I had no idea what he had been saying. I felt my face flush guiltily.
"Enos, " I said. "It's now my turn to beg your pardon. I was miles away, thinking about that magnificent ceremony today. But that's no excuse for ill manners. I've been dreaming all night, since I came in, so I know I'm tired and should be abed. Will you excuse me?"
"Happily, " he said, his eyes crinkled in a smile. "I might even sleep myself. God bless you, Caius Merlyn, and sleep well. "
The day that followed was a quiet one. Rather than subject myself to the curious stares and even fears of the throngs who now packed the town to an unheard of capacity, I spent the day in the confines of my quarters, observing the activities from a second storey window.
There were soldiers everywhere, of course, and not all of them had come from Camulod. Even so, there was no disorder or rowdiness in any quarter. Many of the visiting kings and chiefs had brought their own escorts and bodyguards, their wives and families and servitors, and the streets were bright with their colours, giving the entire gathering an air of motley gaiety and happiness, despite the religious solemnity of the season and the occasion. This sense of festivity was greatly enhanced by the street vendors who had emerged from nowhere, as such people always do, to profit from the gathering through the provision of food and drink, trinkets and jewellery, and any other thing for which they could find a purchaser. Overall, however, there was yet a muted quality to all the joy, for this truly was a day for quiet contemplation of the evils of a world that could condemn and crucify the Son of its own God, a day for prayer, between the darkness of the soul and the light of Resurrection that would shine the following day.
Towards evening, I was disturbed by an urgent summons from Arthur, who asked that I join him in his command headquarters as soon as I might.
I made my way with no difficulty through the crowded streets and all the way to his encampment, the crowds parting before me like the Red Sea patting before Moses. It seemed, I thought grimly, laughing at myself, that there must be something repellent in the way I walked or dressed. That self consciousness faded quickly, however, when I saw Arthur. His face was lined with concern and he was in the final stages of issuing a rapid series of terse, no nonsense orders to his assembled troop leaders, some hundred or more of them, when I arrived. He saw me come in and signalled that he would be with me presently. I moved into a corner and waited, feeling the awe, and sometimes the hostility, in the surreptitious glances that came my way and slid away again before I could engage them. Finally Arthur dismissed everyone else and came to me. He was dressed as he had been the previous night, save that he wore neither his cloak nor his helmet.
"What's wrong, Arthur?"
"Everything, Merlyn. Evil tidings coming as closely packed as hail, in the past three hours. I'm worried."
"I can see that. But why?"
He pursed his lips and exhaled noisily. "Last night I told you Horsa's Danes were massing outside Lindum. You recall?" I nodded, and he twisted up his face. "Aye, well now they're on the move. The word came in from Bedwyr shortly after noon. But that's not all. A messenger arrived from Gwin, not two hours after that. He and Ghilly are to the south of Bedwyr and farther east, in Anglian territory— Cuthric's country. There's trouble there, too. Saxon incursions from the existing settlements to the south, heavy incursions, and the hordes are moving west, Gwin says. That will set them on a collision course with Horsa's Danes as they come south. "
"Then they'll collide, and do good work for you, killing each other. "
"The Danes in the Weald are moving westward, too, Merlyn. Benedict's people there are falling back ahead of them, according to my own strict orders to observe but not engage. That word arrived less than an hour ago. Ben wants permission to attack. He doesn't like the way they're moving— thinks they're too numerous, too disciplined and too well organized to be on a mere raid. "
"What about the others, Bedwyr and your other advance scouting groups? Are they falling back, too?"
"Aye, all of them are. Those were my orders: to observe, and to retreat ahead of any developing threats without engaging, keeping me informed at all times. Now I've heard from almost everyone, and something inside me is making more than is plainly there out of what I hear. That's what has forced me to take these steps. "
"What steps? I'm not sure what you're saying, Arthur. "
"What if the Danes and Saxons have assigned a meeting place, and are not just driving blindly towards each other? What if they've made alliance? It's a frightening thought, and it gains weight from this report of Ben's. My gut is telling me we have no time to waste, and so I've ordered my armies to assemble at dawn, all of them, in the fields about the theatre. I'm to be crowned at noon. By midafternoon, I want to be fully deployed outside the confines of the town, at a safe distance for the town's welfare, holding high ground but prepared to move out in any direction. I think they're coming here, Merlyn, to Verulamium."
While I knew he had no real, logical grounds for the conclusions he had drawn, I myself had taught and encouraged him to put much credence in his own, unformed convictions at times like this. "If they are, then how long will it take for them to arrive?"
He shrugged. "From Lindum to here is more than a hundred miles, closer to a hundred and thirty. That's seven days, more or less, but they set out four days ago. Bedwyr's messenger killed a horse under him in getting here to warn us. By now they'll have joined up with the Saxons, if what I suspect is true. They could be here tomorrow, if they make good time, although I think the following day is closer to the mark and perhaps, if God truly is on our side, they'll be later yet. But the same travelling speed applies to those coming up from the Weald, and they're much closer. So I've passed the word to break camp and assemble early tomorrow. We can't afford to take the risk of not being ready, Cay."