Arthur, amazingly, interrupted him. "Sir Bishop, may I speak?" The Bishop bowed his head graciously, and the new King faced the crowd, frowning slightly before drawing a deep breath and beginning in a voice that quavered very slightly on the first few words but strengthened rapidly as he progressed. His fingers flexed visibly on the arms of the cross, and I had the clear impression that he was leaning on it, drawing strength from it.
"Bishop Enos has said I face a mighty task, and I believe I do. But I also believe the task is achievable, given that I have the support and the goodwill of all of you, here today and throughout this land. " He paused, and allowed the silence to grow and stretch. "I know that some of you think me far too young to take on this responsibility, both sacred and temporal. I know, too, that some of you resent and fear my seeming elevation at this time. I hope to change all that in time, convincing you that none of you—no king, no chief, no warrior, need fear for his possessions or his territories while I rule in this land. You heard the Bishop name me Riothamus: spiritual King—God's Champion, Defender of the Faith. That is what I wish to be, and that is how I intend to govern. I have been taught, my whole life long, by all my teachers, many of whom are here today, to be morally aware, and I shall strive to continue thus. This one more, extra oath, however, I will give you willingly, here on God's altar. I solemnly swear that while I live and rule, no person, woman, man or child, regardless of wealth, rank or station —shall suffer wrongly at the hands of others without redress by me. My rule will be the rule of law, with God's help and with yours. "
I found myself smiling and blinking away tears, my throat choked with pride and love of this magnificent young man, whose integrity permitted him to say such things spontaneously, with sincerity and utter conviction. Enos stepped forward again.
"So be it! Alleluia! It is done and all praises be to God. Jesus is risen and the world rejoices. Now might we pray to Heaven for some sign, some symbol of God's Blessing and His Light." And as he spoke, the clouds above parted and a single beam of golden, shimmering light struck through the darkened air to illuminate the sanctuary. The crowd drew in its breath with a collective gasp of religious awe and somewhere behind me a woman began to weep, her sobs loud and racking.
Arthur, meanwhile, standing by the altar, was peering about him, seemingly unaware of the significance of this truly Heavenly sign. It took me several moments to realize what he was doing. He had had the signal from Enos, with his closing words, "God's Blessing and His Light," and now he was casting his eyes about the sanctuary, looking for the stone that should contain his sword. Enos leaned towards him and murmured in his ear and Arthur looked at him, amazed and obviously confused. The old man nodded, and Arthur reached out once more, tentatively this time, towards the cross upon which he had sworn his oath. About to grasp it, he hesitated again and looked to Enos for another affirmative nod before he closed his fist around its upright. Then, as his fingers felt the rounded hilt beneath the covering purple cloth, he relaxed and began to draw the sword slowly up from the recess beneath the altar, and yet again a hush fell over the assembly as they saw what he was doing.
Months earlier, I had personally chiselled out the slotted hole that held the cross, widening it until it would accept Excalibur's broad blade. When Arthur had found me on Good Friday night beside the altar, I had just completed the substitution of the sword for the cross that Enos had placed there earlier that day in the sight of everyone, before draping it in the purple cloth. I had used my dagger blade to punch out the wooden plug that had been glued into the table, directly beneath the wide slot in the stone so carefully aligned that day by Enos in preparing the altar, and then I had tucked the golden cross into my scrip and slipped Excalibur's long blade down through the stone and through the wood beneath it, to rest upon the floor, concealed from view completely by the long, white altar cloth. When it was there, securely and secretly in place, I had rearranged the drapery of purple cloth so that none could tell it had ever been disturbed. I had been on my knees, finding and pocketing the tell tale plug of wood, when Arthur had called my name that night.
Now Arthur was withdrawing it, the focus of all eyes, including mine. Higher he drew the blade, and higher still until his arm was straight before his eyes, but only then did he look down at the blade itself. And as he saw the shining silver blade emerging where he had thought to see his own plain, iron blade, his whole face, illuminated by the sunbeam's light, was transformed with reverent but overwhelming awe, and he quickly lowered the sword back into its recess and released it. The cloth draped itself again about the cruciform hilt.
Enos reached out and placed his hand between Arthur's shoulders, pushing him forward again, and once again the new crowned King reached out and grasped the hilt. Then, steadily and steadfastly, he drew the gleaming blade completely free and raised it above his head, its flawless beauty glittering in the light of the sunbeam.
Someone at the back of the gathering began to cheer, and the noise swiftly spread to become pandemonium. Quickly then, Arthur reached up with his other hand and pulled away the cloth that had concealed the hilt, and then he held the sword aloft, brandishing it and gazing up at its perfection with a glowing smile of joy upon his face while people leaped to their feet and the whole place went mad with joy and wonder. I stood gazing up at him, tears pouring down my cheeks. Moments later, he looked down and saw me and his face split into a great, white toothed, laughing grin as he whipped the sword downward, whacking the blade against the altar stone and reversing it to press the pommel against the stone itself.
The song of the sword leaped out like a living thing, swelling from nothingness to ringing, deafening purity in an instant. People flinched away from the stunning, vibrant sound of it. Arthur, startled anew to feel the thing vibrating in his hand, lowered it quickly and the blade touched the altar cloth, killing the sound at once. Brief, however, as the ringing tone had been, it had penetrated every space in the theatre, producing instant, shocked stillness. Arthur straightened up, his wide eyes locked upon the weapon in his hand. I moved closer to him, uncaring where I was or who saw me.
"Do it again, Arthur, and this time, hold it there and let it sing. "
Slowly, he raised the blade again, then, with every eye in the place fixed on him, he brought it sweeping down and struck the flat of it against the altar stone. This time, when the thrilling note sprang forth, none flinched, but merely gaped in awe. For ages, then, it seemed, Arthur held the hilt in place until the ringing tone died slowly into silence, and just before it faded completely, he raised his eyes and held his arms spread wide, the glowing, gleaming blade extended so that all could see it. Then, in a gesture that not even Germanus could have conceived of, for all his genius at such things, Arthur replaced the sword securely in the altar stone and left it there, now an obvious sword hilt, magnificent and ornate, black and gold and silver, crowned with a perfect, golden cockleshell, and with a broad, silver white blade that sank into the stone itself.
For long moments he stood there gazing at it, and then he raised his head towards the crowd again and asked them to be seated. When they were, listening intently for what he would say, he told them, without artifice or plaint, what we had learned that morning: that an invasion had begun, and might be massive, and that he must ride to deal with it immediately, today. He asked them to remain in place while all his troopers left, then asked the kings to reassemble here within the hour, at which time he would tell them of his plans and answer as many of their questions as he could. Then he nodded to Tertius Lucca, who gave the signal to dismiss the Camulodian troopers.