Lawhead, Stephen Pendragon Cycle 04 Pendragon

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would be judged the victor; each moment that Arthur delayed, the expectation of triumph grew.
I did not know how long the Vandal king would content himself to stand aside while Arthur tarried. I
hoped he might use the opportunity to belittle his opponent, but he seemed content to bide his time, and
the longer he waited, the lower ebbed my hope and I began to fear that all my work would come to
nothing. Had the wily Black Boar guessed what Arthur was planning?
No. Impossible.
Then why did Amilcar stand so amiably by? Why did he not denounce Arthur and call for the Britons to
produce their king, or declare himself the victor?
The sun mounted higher in a formless sky, blazing hot, pooling inky shadows on the dry ground. I looked
along the ranks of men, standing uneasily, sweating, their eyes narrowed slits against the hard, hard light.
Across the plain, the barbarians shifted restlessly. The expectation was growing too great to contain any
longer. Yet Amilcar waited.
When the Vandali war drums finally sounded, I thought: At last! The moment we have been waiting for,
Arthur. Take it!
Amilcar advanced with his bodyguard and priest to his accustomed place. He stood for a moment
scanning the ranks, then drew himself up and called out in a loud voice, which Hergest repeated: 'Where
is your champion? Where is your great king? Is he hiding? Is he afraid to face me?'
The words met stony silence. 'Why does no one answer me? Has fear taken your tongues? Come out
and fight! Show me you are not afraid!'
When he received no answer, his shouts became taunts. 'Dogs! Cowards! Now you show your true
nature! Kings of cowards, where is your coward of a king?'
This went on for a time. The Britons grew sullen and restive under this abuse. I could see the seeds of
doubt and worry taking root. This was all to the good my plan would better succeed if even Arthur's
own Cymbrogi were taken by surprise. And Amilcar's abuse was beginning to worry our men.
Bedwyr hurried to my side, a frown of deepest concern creasing his brows. 'I thought you said you
would bring him.
I did, and I have.'
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'Then where is he? Amilcar will not wait for ever. Whatever you are planning '
'Peace, Bedwyr,' I soothed. 'Return to your place. All is as it should be.'
'With you, Myrddin, nothing is ever as it should be.' He retreated a few steps behind me, telling Cai: 'It is
no use, brother. He will tell us nothing.'
'Where is Arthur?' demanded Cai.
'Peace,' I replied. 'He is near.'
'Well, if Arthur does not come soon,' Cai called to me. 'Tell Twrch that 7 will fight him. That will stop
him raving.'
Amilcar drew encouragement from the refusal of the Britons to meet his taunts. He preened and posed,
strutting back and forth, crying his insults to the cowed and increasingly uncertain Britons. I saw in his
swagger the confidence of a man who believes himself a conqueror and his adversary already
vanquished.
Yes, I thought, he is ready. Come, Arthur, it is time. But Arthur did not come. And then it was my turn
to worry. Where was he? Why did he wait? What if something had happened to him?
I endured this uncertainty for a time, wondering what to do, and was on the point of sending Cai and
Bedwyr to find him, when I heard it: a low rumble, like distant thunder. The sound grew rapidly louder,
mounting steadily like the wind of an approaching storm.
The Britons heard it and looked to the west. The Vandali heard it too, and turned towards the sound.
Because of his shouting, the Black Boar was the last to hear the strange thunder. His voice faltered and
he turned his gaze to the west where a pillar of dust had appeared.
The sound became a steady drumming rumble and Arthur appeared, as if out of a tempest. But it was
Arthur as no one had ever seen him: standing upright on the platform of a speeding chariot, brandishing a
spear. Llenlleawg, also painted with blue woad, held the traces, driving two of Fergus' swift Irish
stallions. The chariot for it did look very like a war chariot was hung with a bearskin and there were
spears lashed to the uprights, giving it an even more menacing appearance. This Llenlleawg had done on
his own; so pressed for time to complete the vehicle, I had not thought of it.
As remarkable as the sudden and unexpected appearance of the chariot might be, however, I think it
was scarcely noticed at all. For every eye was on Arthur alone, and he held them rapt. His hair was a
wild, spiky mass, white and stiff with lime. Most startling of all, he was wearing neither leather nor mail. In
truth, he wore nothing save his golden tore of kingship; the champions of an elder time often fought
naked, disdaining armour, trusting only their own prowess for protection. His face and body were freshly
shaved, and his skin daubed blue with woad spirals, hands, stripes, jagged lightning patterns all
over his arms and chest, and down his thighs and legs symbols and signs now forgotten, but once
possessing great power.
The impact of his unexpected appearance could not have been greater. It was as if a hero of old had
taken flesh anew Morvran Iron Fist himself, rising bodily from the dust at their feet, would not have
astonished them more. Some did not recognize Arthur at first, and even those who did know him stared
in amazement.
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'Behold!' I cried. 'The Pendragon of Ynys Prydein, riding to the defence of his realm.'
'How long has it been since a British king has appeared so before his people?' I felt a touch on my arm
as Gwenhwyvar came to stand beside me. Her face was alight with pleasure at the effect of the surprise.
'Oh, he is a splendid man.
Truly.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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