ARTHUR & THE SWORD FORGED FROM THE MAGIC STONE (CH-2)

 

   THE HERMITAGE

The boy/man arrived at the hermitage and showed the horse the beaten up corral the old man had built decades ago; just an old donkey residing there. Ralph did not seem to mind and he seemed to be familiar with this ass, so Arthur led him in and closed the corral door. He used the old rope-latch but he knew it would not hold if this giant steed grew tired of his temporary quarters.

The Steed must be tested, Arthur thought. A trust must be tested. A more experienced horseman would not take such chances. But a more experienced horseman was not next in line to become Dux Belorum.
With plenty of hay and water in the stall, the horse would fare well through the night. Arthur entered the humble abode and found the old man waiting.

Well Arthur, a big night and a glorious new day. Come sit down here, pointing to an old pillow-like pile resembling a chair.  This is your bloody thrown for the night. Ha 


Francis got up while the boy/man sat down and found an old cup. After spitting in it and wiping it out with an old cloth, he filled it with his own brand of meade made from the honey he gathered twice a week from bee hives in the area. There was a warm fire in the hearth with smoke escaping through a strange opening to the sky in the corner of the rustic room. Francis called it a chimney which was a strange fixture in this new land.
Your time is not yet come Arthur, Francis said while handing him his meade. But it will be here soon. Word has it that Ambrosious is dead and Uther, the new king is severely wounded in Coritani somewhere.


You know that this is where the real blood is, do you not Arthur. You were born not more than seventy five Roman miles from this place. 


Tintagel, Francis is a grand castle on the coast, at the point, at the ends of the earth for the Celtics and the Romans. 


That's right Arthur. Igraine is your mama. You know this. Now you might have heard that your father was the late great Gorlois, Grand Duke of Cornwall. 


Yes I have heard of such things though I have never met mama. Arthur was warm now, and comfortable. He was always at ease in this place and felt it so remarkable that Francis would offer him his famous meade. It might have been the remarkable events that he had witnessed that night. It might have been the discovery of his new steed, the gift from the gods, or it might have been the meade that made Arthur so elated. And he always loved the stories from Francis his favorite monk.

But Gorlois is not your father; for he died a night or two before you were conceived. Uther is your father and you are Uther's only son. You are to be the new ruler, you are the once and future king of Britannia, Arthur. 


But that would make me a bastard!

Francis, Arthur pondered, do you mean that I am the product of a one night stand? Are suggesting my mums was a whore? I mean would or should there be some period of mourning after your husband dies? What the hell is Igraine doing, sleeping with Uther while Gorlois body lies steeped in blood and still warm?

Well it's more complicated than that. You know son, when a man loves a woman very, very, very much the two....

Francis...

Yes Arthur...

I have been watching chickens, horses, cows and canines fuck since I was first able to ambulate on legs. Whom exactly do you think you are addressing?

Okay, look. I will tell you the entire story.

Uther kind of took a...er...real liking to Igraine. Gorlois, her lawful husband, was disturbed by all this. So when two men have designs upon one woman, they take the only logical course of action. 

They go to war with their armies. 

Well after much todo along with the loss of a score or two of young men, Gorlois was found impaled upon some mace a farmer had discarded years before upon the battlefield. 

And Uther, knowing that Igraine was not that kind of girl, came to Merlin with a plan. Remember son, men of honor always come up with plans. Anyway, Merlin disliked the entire proceedings leading up to all this. He chastised Uther for losing all these good men when the barbaric pagan Saxon dogs were running helter skelter across his island. 

Uther asked if he could 'approach' Igraine at the Castle Terrible in the guise of Gorlois. "Guise of Gorlois"...pretty good. You gotta admit, I have the gift. Anyway, Merlin says Okie Dokie, but if there is a child  born following this tryst, I get the baby. Got it?

Uther agreed upon a solemn oath. He knew Merlin liked the youngun's but...well I mean Merlin's gifts were of use so many times that your father overlooked some things.

So Uther went into the Castle Terrible in the guise of Gorlois . So your mumsy was not and is not a whore.

The end.

Tell me this Francis. Do I look more like Gorlois or Uther?

Do not really know Arthur. Never met either gentlemen.  


No, son, not under our old laws; for your father, Uther married Igraine within the time of the full moon following your conception. It was a secret ceremony recognized by our Celtic clergy. And a sacred document attesting to this ceremony is currently in the possession of Merlin.

I must, I must immediately rush to my father's side to defend my nation....Arthur attempted to get up which was not impossible in his condition but Francis feigned to hold him down.
No no no. Do you trust me?
...

DO YOU TRUST YOUR FRIEND FRANCIS?
Yes I do, for whom else is there to trust during these perilous times? Replied Arthur.

You now have a steed if you can keep him. You also need a sword and a shield. I have a saddle for you and some rigging to carry your material needs. You are strong and sharp and you have already learned the secrets of the forest and how to fend for yourself. 


You must begin a quest. A quest for your sword and your shield and some coin....I mean some coin would be a fine idea. 


But Francis, my father is Dux Belorum for chrissakes--both men blessed themselves--and I would receive all the armaments and such that I would ever need. 


Arthur, listen close. Please. There are men with lean and hungry eyes at your father's side right now. If you were to appear at the battle site now, before certain things are accomplished, the Saxons would be the least of your problems.  Besides, under your logic, you could just have gone to the battlefield without a horse. 


But I needed MY HORSE. 


Yes, and the Good Lord provided, did He not?

After blessing himself, the boy/man contemplated all of this. How long should this quest of mine take?
Within two full cycles of the moon, Merlin shall arrive here to escort you to your destiny. But it was I who had an angel come to me in a dream and foretell of all these amazing things. And the presentation of Ralph  as come to pass as well as just your presence here tonight. 


Was that the little red headed sweetheart from Gloucester that was visiting last year at this time following your biannual sale of meade to the local hostels there? 


No Arthur, and if you ever speak of this again I shall...I shall never speak with you again. Even old monks need some ease and comfort at times. I mean winny the ass starts looking pretty good after a couple three months and....

NEVER MIND ABOUT THAT. Now son, you know of the mysteries of metallurgy, do you not?
Merlin showed me the ways of Hephaestus and Ernie the Sludge apprenticed me for two years. Did you know he had this secret room at his works where he kept this hunchback dwarf woman. And he would tell me stories of how she had two sheaths, so to speak and...What a smelly godless peasant was he...but he was so clever with the use of ore and we used to make the finest swords....
I have an idea..Yes, Francis I shall go on a quest upon my new mount and I shall return having completed all my tasks within the time of the cycles of the two moons. 


Agreed? 


Agreed, replied Francis, smiling now as he filled both cups with the last of the meade and as he took out his lute:

                   OH MY BRITANNIA*

What has happened down here, is the times 
have changed.

Romans be long gone and the Saxons startin
to gain.

Saxons comin real hard, and they gainin for
a real long time.

Saxons comin down harder in the old 
Domnonian Plains

The Saxons raid all day, and they raid all 
night

Some people got lost in these wars, some 
people got away all right

Our soldiers have been slain clear up to 
Coritani

Some have landed in the fields of
Tintangeline

Oh my Britannia, Oh my Britannia

They're trying to scare us away, 
they're trying to scare us away

Oh my Britannia, Oh my Britannia

They're trying to drive us away, 
they're tryin to drive us away

Old Duke Ambrosius come down here, in
a big parade

With a Seneschal asking if more of our 
hardy boys would lend a hand

Ambrosius say "Seneschal, oh isn't 
it a shame,

What the Saxons have done to this 
great Celtic land."

Oh my Britannia, Oh my Britannia

They're trying to scare us away, 
they're trying to scare us away

Oh my Britannia, Oh my Britannia 

They're trying to drive us away, 
they're trying to drive us away

They're trying to drive us away, 
they're trying to drive us away

Arthur awoke with a head on and proceeded 
outside to respond to his immediate call 
to duty. 

This is dangerous. I could poke someone 
in the eye with this woody and do some 
real harm; where are the Saxon dogs when
you need one, he thought. 

Oh saints preserve me. This is the dawn 
of a new era. With that thought, almost 
fearfully, he snuck a peak 
at the corral. Sure enough, there was Ralph.  

Hey Ralphy. How ya doin? You know I could 
have returned your favors from last night 
if I had only thought about 
it two minutes ago. Hahahahah

Arthur went over and stroked the majestic 
animal's brow. Ralph snorted kind of a 
harrumph his way. Ha 

You aint agoin nowhere are you, your majesty? 

As any good guest would, and to work the sleep 
out of his bones--as well as some of the left 
over meade--he chopped up some wood on the old 
stump in back of the hut and carried it inside. 

He got that fire going again and did 
that feel good.It is strange how a fire can 
warm the heart and dry the dew from a man's 
clothes, he pondered.  

The old man began to stir, probably feeling 
safer as a result of the warmth from the emanations 
of the hearth. Tossing off the covers made of skins,
Francis knelt in prayer.

Arthur cooperated as he always had when he witnessed
a member of the clergy acting out of piety instead 
of hypocrisy. 

Lord of Hosts, hear my prayer

We ask not for You to slay our enemies

We ask instead for the inner strength

The inner fortitude to perform in the 
face of immediate danger

To perform so that we may maintain 
our land

To perform so that we may maintain 
our family

To perform so that we may maintain 
our customs

This boy/man is about to seek 
full manhood

This boy/man is about to earn his rightful 
knighthood

This boy/man is about to be crowned a king

This boy/man may represent all our hopes 
and dreams

Help this Arthur in his quest

Help this Arthur find his best

Amen 

Oh and Lord

Please give those heathen 
Saxon dogs no quarter.

Francis fed Arthur some porridge made of locally 
ground grain cured with a little boiling water 
and topped with some honey. 

An apple finished off the feast and the two 
proceeded to the corral. Ralph was fitted with
a saddle as well as a bit, 
of which the steed was none to fond.  

Blankets and packs were attached to this self 
sufficient system of travel. The old monk included 
dried meat as well as some grain.

A simple bow and an old rusted sword would make 
the ride easier.  

How do I repay such kindness Francis? Yesterday I 
was a boy alone in the forest. Today I am fitted 
as a would-be knight. 

You shall thank me by completing your task and 
returning by the end of the second cycle of the moon. 
The goddess Luna shall watch over you but shall 
heed the movements of Luna. 

Arthur kissed the hermit on the cheek and led his 
new steed toward Gloucester.  His first task lies in 
that direction and he knew he needed the old Roman 
Via to complete it.  

At last the once and future King had a singular
purpose.
 
A quest takes many steps, and the first steps, 
important steps had been taken.

ARTHUR & THE SWORD FORGED FROM THE MAGIC STONE

 

The fields had been so quiet. So quiet you could hear a peasant smothering his second wife to death with a feather pillow in the adjoining county; if you were into that sort of thing.

There was no wind. When it is like that, the stars kind of stare down like they are waiting for something to happen.

Oh there was half a moon and yet, with not a cloud in the sky, the stars stared down, waiting. Time stands still when this happens. No one ages. Arteries stop clogging. Hate dissipates. Only REM sleep continues only it takes people to fantastic places not known in a world normally filled with doom and gloom.
Am I awake?  No wind, no clouds, no bugs. My god I am surely dead.

Somehow he had ended up in this field of clover. He certainly felt damp. But not from a rain; he was damp from the dew.

Oh I am in trouble now.

He recalled some things Merlin had taught him about those magnificent stars. There was more to this map of far away suns than just the two bears containing the North Star.

He recalled something about Orion and Orion's placement in the sky at this time of year and the number of bells on the grand clock at Glastonbury. The stars had something to do with the time of night besides the seasons.

It is just a little past midnight, the boy surmised. In late summer the sun would set around 9 bells.

There are omens. He looked at the northern sky and there were these auras; gently streaming waves of light with a bluish white hue.

And he saw a miracle. A falling star appeared, speeding to earth in a magnificent arc as if it had been plucked from Orion's Belt. As it disappeared just over this mighty hill to the West, there was this explosion. It could not have landed that far away because he heard the sound of thunder soon after the glow from the explosion dissipated.  Arthur sat watching in wonder.

THE DAWN OF A NEW AGE APPROACHES.

Arthur arose and walked toward a pond some fifty paces away. The pond was so still and its  water acted like a large mirror. As he arrived to the edge of this magic pool, a fish jumped not ten yards away diving back into its liquid homestead; causing perfect concentric circles to spread over the pond.

Hoooooooooo hooooooooooo ....an owl

Well the fish and the owl tell me that there is life here. I am not in the land of the dead. But how did I get here?

Arthur had walked toward to east to reach the pond. The North Star told him that much. Staring across the pond to the east he saw a tail of smoke rising beyond. Now he knew where he was, he thought as he washed the sleep from his face. Wooooooo. Chilly.

He turned toward the south to walk the edge of the pond and proceed east to the old hermit's home; the hostel at the edge of the forest. Francis would be growly, but what else is new? Ha the old fart will be happy to see me.

Never leave the fortification without your sword, without a magic coin and without your horse. A horse. That's fine unless you are fourteen and they will not let you have a horse to call your own. The horse was the symbol of knighthood.

Alexander had the magic Bucephalus which he earned when he was much younger than me. The mighty lad had tamed the greatest of the wild steed with neither saddle nor reins. The gods had presented Alexander with Bucephalus. The conqueror had led armies atop this steed at thirteen for chrissakes. (Arthur blesses himself) 

Caesar had his magic Horse Pollix; Pollix had toes above its hooves like one of those monsters you would witness at the carnivals. Others would have eschewed such a deformed creature of God. But not Julius; he knew the gods had smiled upon him and his great future feats as the greatest of the Romans. And Caesar certainly would have had this magic stallion by fourteen, since he rode it as head of his family by his sixteenth birthday.  No one else could ride that steed. No-no-nobody else.
Merlin had made him read this history reciting the importance of the mighty steed to the conquerors of history:

Every conqueror needs a distinguished horse which only he can ride. A number of classical sources note that Julius Caesar possessed such a horse, born on his own lands, whose front hooves resembled feet since they were divided in such a way that they looked like toes. This unusual condition was interpreted by a soothsayer as an omen that the master of such a horse would one day rule the world. Naturally, the horse would endure no other rider save Caesar. This observation in Caesar's ancient biography seems to recall the characteristics of Bucephalus, the wild horse tamed by Alexander, which provided that hero too with an oracle predicting world empire. In medieval romance, Alexander's horse becomes a horned creature so wild that it eats men. In a later medieval epic on Julius Caesar, in addition to unmistakable feet, his horse gains a fabulous horn on its head with which it can topple other riders and their mounts. A number of depictions survive in which this mythic horse (rather than its owner) is in sharp focus. A colourful earthenware dish of the early sixteenth century, which captures a moment in the triumph of Julius Caesar, appears to jettison the medieval horn in favour of a more rational spike attached to a harness, but all four of the horse's human feet remain clearly visible as it is ridden on parade by a youth, who carries a globetipped branch to signify that their master is ruler of the whole world

Arthur was fifteen on the morrow. Hell, I am fifteen now since it is after the midnight and...and...the omens tell me so.

Cai already had his horse. Once you had your own horse you were beheld as a real knight, a true knight whether properly vowed or not. Sometimes the oath would just be taken by the padre and seconded by the local duke at a later date. Cai had received both those honors.

But even Arthur, who had trouble with the ancient Lingua Latina knew that Rumpus was not a valiant name for a horse. And Arthur had told him so.

Look Cai, Alexander rode the Black Steed of the Gods, Bucephalus. Caesar had his grand Pollix.

But he learned long ago that Cai could be taught nothing.  Horse shite for brains; that was Cai.

These thoughts always made his journeys shorter somehow. He could see the hermit's place on top of the small tor ahead. And then, he heard a snorting. What the f......

Just then he was blind sided, knocked down to the ground by a monster of some kind.  Suddenly, he felt a strong flow of water upon him as he lay in a stupor. As he struggled to awaken from this traumatic trance, he knew it was not water. Shaking in anger he got to his feet. 

WHO DARES ATTACK THE GREAT ARTHUR?

A giant horse stood face to face with the urine soaked blue-blood. Snort.........
Hahahahahhahahah

Who's that. Who the hell is that? Called out Arthur, carefully surmising this monster with the rudest of manners.

It is I, Francis.

Oh Francis it is good to see you. But doth thou seeeth what I seeeth?

I most certainly seeeth what just hath peeeth. ahahahahahah

Oh that's Ralph, Francis continued, the feral equine. He comes around here a couple of times a year. Ha, it looks like he has taken a liking to you. Always knew Ralph had no taste in humanity, except for feeding upon fallen soldiers from time to time of course. Hahahah

Arthur shrieked.

But he has taken a liking to you boy. He does not knock down and piss on any woodland fairy. hahahahaha

I shall be right back boy.

Ralph kept staring at the boy. Arthur stared right back. No frickin animal is going to stare him down.  The two stood nose to nose for some time. Both of them were too proud to flinch. Ralph wondered what pride this youngster could still hold onto have bathing in the aftermath of his long drink at the pond.

All righty then boy, ask Ralph what he thinks about this, Francis instructed as he handed him a rope.
Arthur laid the rope over Ralph's head onto his neck, carefully; oh soooooo carefully; like he was awarding the horse with a wreath following the Kentucky Derby. Ralph did not even move. There had been an understanding of sorts reached between the two males.  Arthur had almost forgotten the stink if not the chill shooting through his limbs from his soakened clothes.

Francis was astounded. He really had never seen anything like this before. Ralph had been most unsolicitous over the year the monk knew him. The animal would show up out of nowhere and walk the hermit's grounds like he owned the place. Francis at first took this as a hurtful gesture; as if the steed looked down upon the lowly man.

Francis handed Arthur the hooded robe he had brought with the rope. Go back to the pond, clean up and put this on.

The Once & Future King led the horse back to the magic pond, stripped and jumped right into the water. Ralph aint goin nowhere. At least he hath better not!

He knew that the slow wade through the pool was more painful than sucking it in and taking the leap. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH THAT'S COLD!!! JESUS H. CHRIST!!!

Arthur arose from the pond shivering and blessing himself. He had been cleansed of the sins that had recently been perpetrated upon him.

The mighty horse seemed to look askance at the shrunkin genetalia of the young teen and laughed with a mighty snort.

This is all your fault you know, the yet to be mighty Arthur said aloud to Ralph as he donned the hooded robe.

Ralph snorted some more.

Arthur led his mighty steed, the stuff that knights are made of, back to the hermit's quarters.  But he could swear he heard a tune, a tune from that old student of Talesian as the two strolled toward their destination:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HbUrv0UZWFI&feature=related

Francis was so taken by the horse's aplomb, that he would just put a bucket of grain and a bucket of water outside his door; he had so admired the freedom with which the steed moved. Where ever he wished? No prayer sessions. No worries about sinning and all that; certainly no table manners. The mighty steed, at times, would take some mouthfuls of oats, push the bucket over and run for the glen. Sometimes Francis thought he actually just took to this horse for his rudeness.

Gawain had once showed up at his hermitage drunker than a skunk which was as it always had been on a biannual basis for years;  my Gawwwwwd that man smelled. (Blessing himself) Naturally, after filling the knight with sustenance he did not merit, Gawain passed out upon the straw floor. The next morning Ralph showed up on the sacred grounds.

The hungover parasite jumped through the window and went after the steed, the most beautiful steed he had ever seen to no avail.

Gawain is the worst of this new generation of noblemen, I swear Francis had exclaimed at the time.
The boy and his horse approached the hermitage.

(The end of Chapter One)
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