uncle Ambrosius?”
Bors nodded grimly. “Look here. He still wears the High King’s crest on his tunic.”
“Treachery,” Gawain whispered.
With a shake of his head, Arthur said in a low, hollow voice, “I can’t believe that my uncle would send these rogues upon us. Why would he do so?”
“Jealousy, my lord,”answered Sir Bors. “Your victory at Amesbury gives the High King pause. He fears for his throne.”
“But I would never…” Arthur seemed thoroughly shocked. “He knows I would never seek his crown.”
“Does he, my lord?” Bors replied. “I wonder.”
2
The next day was sultry, the last touch of summer that we would see that year. Our little column of mounted knights and squires climbed the steep dustyroad slowly, the horses tired, the men sweating and too weary even to grumble about the long journey or the hot sun blazing out of the cloudless sky.
I rode beside young Arthur, as a squire should. Usually Arthur was bright and eager, full of youthful enthusiasm, but this day he was quiet, thinking, worried about the treachery of the night before. The tunic he wore over his chain mail was coveredwith dust, stained with sweat. His light brown hair flowed past his shoulders, his amber eyes that usually sparkled with dreams of glory seemed to be focused elsewhere, looking for answers they could not find. Unconsciously he scratched at his bristly beard. It was coming in nicely, but it must have been itchy.
“I wish Merlin were with us,” he said, with a sigh. “I miss his advice.”
We had leftthe old wizard behind at Amesbury; too frail to make the trip with us, he would be coming later by wagon, together with the arms and other spoils from the battle Arthur had won.
“Merlin is very wise,” I said.
“He prophesied I would win a great victory and he was right,” Arthur said. He treated me more as a friend than a squire, and often unburdened his inner thoughts to me. “It was a great victory,wasn’t it?” he said, smiling at the memory of it.
“Indeed it was, my lord.”
“Thanks to you, Orion. And your Sarmatian stirrups.”
“You led the charge, my lord,” I said to Arthur. “It was your vision and courage that convinced the knights to accept the new ideas.”
Arthur nodded, his face going somber. “Now I must convince the High King.”
He had concocted a plan to drive the Saxons and all theother barbarian tribes completely out of Britain. Only three men knew of it, so far: Arthur, Merlin, and myself. It was a plan that could work, I thought, if Ambrosius was willing to accept it and was not already fearful that Arthur was threatening his position as High King.
There was one other obstacle in Arthur’s path, as well: me. Aten had sent me to this time and place to prevent Arthur fromdefeating the barbarians who were invading Britain. To assassinate him if his enemies didn’t kill him first.
“Look!” Arthur stood in his stirrups and pointed. “Cadbury castle!”
It stood at the crest of the steep hill we were tediously climbing. Cadbury was a real castle, built of stone, not one of the rude wooden hill forts that Ambrosius had strung along the countryside to contain the Saxoninvasion.
“It must have been built by giants,” he said, staring at the high stone wall and the towers rising above it.
“No,” I said. “It was built by men.”
“But Orion, mortal men could never lift such stones! Look at them! It’s impossible.”
I had scaled the beetling walls of Troy and helped to burn the fabled towers of Ilium. I had tried to defend triple-walled Byzantium against the ferociousTurks. Cadbury was nothing compared to them, but to this eager young knight it was the grandest architecture he had ever seen.
“Roman engineers built most of it,” I told Arthur. “The High King’s stonecrafters have added to it.”
He refused to believe such a mundane explanation. Arthur was barely out of his teens, full of the naïveté and credulous innocence of wide-eyed
Bors nodded grimly. “Look here. He still wears the High King’s crest on his tunic.”
“Treachery,” Gawain whispered.
With a shake of his head, Arthur said in a low, hollow voice, “I can’t believe that my uncle would send these rogues upon us. Why would he do so?”
“Jealousy, my lord,”answered Sir Bors. “Your victory at Amesbury gives the High King pause. He fears for his throne.”
“But I would never…” Arthur seemed thoroughly shocked. “He knows I would never seek his crown.”
“Does he, my lord?” Bors replied. “I wonder.”
2
The next day was sultry, the last touch of summer that we would see that year. Our little column of mounted knights and squires climbed the steep dustyroad slowly, the horses tired, the men sweating and too weary even to grumble about the long journey or the hot sun blazing out of the cloudless sky.
I rode beside young Arthur, as a squire should. Usually Arthur was bright and eager, full of youthful enthusiasm, but this day he was quiet, thinking, worried about the treachery of the night before. The tunic he wore over his chain mail was coveredwith dust, stained with sweat. His light brown hair flowed past his shoulders, his amber eyes that usually sparkled with dreams of glory seemed to be focused elsewhere, looking for answers they could not find. Unconsciously he scratched at his bristly beard. It was coming in nicely, but it must have been itchy.
“I wish Merlin were with us,” he said, with a sigh. “I miss his advice.”
We had leftthe old wizard behind at Amesbury; too frail to make the trip with us, he would be coming later by wagon, together with the arms and other spoils from the battle Arthur had won.
“Merlin is very wise,” I said.
“He prophesied I would win a great victory and he was right,” Arthur said. He treated me more as a friend than a squire, and often unburdened his inner thoughts to me. “It was a great victory,wasn’t it?” he said, smiling at the memory of it.
“Indeed it was, my lord.”
“Thanks to you, Orion. And your Sarmatian stirrups.”
“You led the charge, my lord,” I said to Arthur. “It was your vision and courage that convinced the knights to accept the new ideas.”
Arthur nodded, his face going somber. “Now I must convince the High King.”
He had concocted a plan to drive the Saxons and all theother barbarian tribes completely out of Britain. Only three men knew of it, so far: Arthur, Merlin, and myself. It was a plan that could work, I thought, if Ambrosius was willing to accept it and was not already fearful that Arthur was threatening his position as High King.
There was one other obstacle in Arthur’s path, as well: me. Aten had sent me to this time and place to prevent Arthur fromdefeating the barbarians who were invading Britain. To assassinate him if his enemies didn’t kill him first.
“Look!” Arthur stood in his stirrups and pointed. “Cadbury castle!”
It stood at the crest of the steep hill we were tediously climbing. Cadbury was a real castle, built of stone, not one of the rude wooden hill forts that Ambrosius had strung along the countryside to contain the Saxoninvasion.
“It must have been built by giants,” he said, staring at the high stone wall and the towers rising above it.
“No,” I said. “It was built by men.”
“But Orion, mortal men could never lift such stones! Look at them! It’s impossible.”
I had scaled the beetling walls of Troy and helped to burn the fabled towers of Ilium. I had tried to defend triple-walled Byzantium against the ferociousTurks. Cadbury was nothing compared to them, but to this eager young knight it was the grandest architecture he had ever seen.
“Roman engineers built most of it,” I told Arthur. “The High King’s stonecrafters have added to it.”
He refused to believe such a mundane explanation. Arthur was barely out of his teens, full of the naïveté and credulous innocence of wide-eyed
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