Bernard Cornwell Warlord 3 Excalibur

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A moment later Bishop Sansum scurried into my room. He was carrying a strange bundle which at first I
took to be a stick wrapped up in an old cloak. Did Dafydd bring news? he asked.
The Queen is well, I said, as is her child. I decided against telling Sansum that the child was to be
named Arthur, for it would only annoy the saint and life is much easier in Dinnewrac when Sansum is in a
good temper.
I asked for news, Sansum snapped, not women s gossip about a child. What about the fires? Did
Dafydd mention the fires?
He knows no more than we do, Bishop, I said, but King Brochvael believes they are Saxons.
God preserve us, Sansum said, and walked to my window from where the smear of smoke was still
just visible in the east. God and His saints preserve us, he prayed, then came to my desk and put the
strange bundle on top of this skin. He pulled away the cloak and I saw, to my astonishment, and almost
to the provocation of my tears, that it was Hywelbane. I did not dare show my emotion, but instead
crossed myself as if I was shocked by the appearance of a weapon in our monastery. There are enemies
near, Sansum said, explaining the sword s presence.
I fear you are right, Bishop, I said.
And enemies provoke hungry men in these hills, Sansum went on, so at night you will stand guard on
the monastery.
So be it, Lord, I said humbly. But me? Stand guard? I am white-haired, old and feeble. One might as
well ask a toddling child to stand guard as to rely on me, but I made no protest and once Sansum had left
the room I slid Hywelbane from her scabbard and thought how heavy she had become during the long
years she had lain in the monastery s treasure cupboard. She was heavy and clumsy, but she was still my
sword, and I peered at the yellowed pig bones set into her hilt and then at the lover s ring that was bound
about its pommel and I saw, on that flattened ring, the tiny scraps of gold I had stolen from the Cauldron
so long ago. She brought back so many stories, that sword. There was a patch of rust on her blade and I
carefully scraped it away with the knife I use for sharpening my quills, and then I cradled her for a long
time, imagining that I was young again and still strong enough to wield her.
But me? Stand guard? In truth Sansum did not want me to stand guard, but rather to stand like a fool
to be sacrificed while he scuttled out of the back door with Saint Tudwal in one hand and the
monastery s gold in the other. But if that is to be my fate I will not complain. I would rather die like my
father with my sword in my hand, even if my arm is weak and the sword blunt. That was not the fate
Merlin wanted for me, nor what Arthur wanted, but it is not a bad way for a soldier to die, and though I
have been a monk these many years and a Christian even longer, in my sinful soul I am still a spearman of
Mithras. And so I kissed my Hywelbane, glad to see her after all these years.
So now I shall write the tale s ending with my sword beside me and I shall hope that I am given time to
finish this tale of Arthur, my Lord, who was betrayed, reviled and, after his departure, missed like no
other man was ever missed in all of Britain s history.
I fell into a fever after my hand was struck oif, and when I woke I discovered Ceinwyn sitting beside my
bed. At first I did not recognize her, for her hair was short and had gone as white as ash. But it was my
Ceinwyn, she was alive and her health was coming back, and when she saw the light in my eyes she
leaned forward and laid her cheek on mine. I put my left arm around her and discovered I had no hand to
stroke her back, only a stump bound in bloody cloth. I could feel the hand, I could even feel it itching, but
there was no hand there. It had been burned. A week later I was baptized in the River Usk. Bishop
Emrys performed the ceremony, and once he had dipped me in the cold water, Ceinwyn followed me
down the muddy bank and insisted on being baptized as well. I will go where my man goes, she told
Bishop Emrys, and so he folded her hands on her breasts and tipped her back into the river. A choir of
women sang as we were baptized and that night, dressed in white, we received the Christian bread and
wine for the first time. After the mass Morgan produced a parchment on which she had written my
promise to obey her husband in the Christian faith and she demanded that I sign my name.
I ve already given you my word, I objected.
You will sign, Derfel, Morgan insisted, and you will swear the oath on a crucifix as well.
I sighed and signed. Christians, it seemed, did not trust the older form of oath-making, but demanded
parchment and ink. And so I acknowledged Sansum as my Lord and, after I had written my name,
Ceinwyn insisted on adding her own. Thus began the second half of my life, the half in which I have kept
my oath to Sansum, though not as well as Morgan hoped. If Sansum knew I was writing this tale he [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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