The Last Enchantment - Mary Stewart [114]
I shook my head. The pain went through it like a saw. I think I cried out. At the King's move there had been a hush; now there was complete silence in the hall. Silence, and eyes, and the unsteady dazzle of the flames.
He leaned forward, as if to take my hand. "What is it? Are you ill? Merlin, can you speak?"
His voice swelled, echoed, was whirled away. It did not concern me. Nothing concerned me but the necessity of speech. The lamp-flames were burning somewhere in my breast, their hot oil spilling in bubbles through my blood. Breath came thick and piercing, like smoke in the lungs. When I found words at last they surprised me. I had seen nothing beyond the chamber long ago in the Perilous Chapel, and the vision which might or might not have meant anything. What I heard myself saying, in a harsh and ringing voice that brought Arthur up like a blow, and startled every man to his feet, had a very different burden.
"It is not over yet, King! Get you to horse, and ride! They have broken the peace, and soon they will be at Badon! Men and women are dying in their blood, and children cry, before they are spitted like chickens. There is no king near to protect them. Get you there now, duke of the kings! This is for you alone, when the people themselves cry out for you! Go with your Companions, and put a finish to this thing! For by the Light, Arthur of Britain, this is the last time, and the last victory! Go now!"
The words went ringing into total silence. Those who had never before heard me speak with power were pale: all made the sign. My breathing was loud in the hush, like that of an old man fighting to stave off death.
Then from the crowd of younger men came sounds of disbelief, even scoffing. It was not to be wondered at. They had heard stories of my past deeds, but so many of these were patently poets' work, and all, having gone already into song, had taken the high colour of legend. Last time I had spoken so had been at Luguvallium, before the raising of the sword, and some of them had been children then. These knew me only as engineer and man of medicine, the quiet counsellor whom the King favoured.
The muttering was all around me, wind in the trees.
"There has been no signal; what is he talking about? As if the High King could go off on his bare word, for a scare like this! Arthur has done enough, and so have we; the peace is settled, anyone can see that! Badon? Where is it? Well, but no Saxon would attack there, not now...Yes, but if they did, there is no force there to hold them, he was right about that...No, it's nonsense, the old man has lost his senses again. Remember, up there in the forest, what he was like? Crazy, and that's the truth...and now moon-mad again, with the same malady?"
Arthur had not taken his eyes off me. The whispers blew to and fro. Someone called for a doctor, and there was coming and going in the hall. He ignored it. He and I were alone together. His hand came out and took me by the wrist. I felt, through the whirling pain, his young strength forcing me gently back into my chair. I had not even known I was standing. His other hand went out, and someone put a goblet into it. He held the wine to my lips.
I turned my head aside. "No. Leave me. Go now. Trust me."
"By all the gods there are," he said, from the back of his throat, "I trust you." He swung on his heel, and spoke. "You, and you, and you, give the orders. We ride now. See to it."
Then back to me, but speaking so that all could hear: "Victory, you said?"
"Victory. Can you doubt it?"
For a moment, through the stresses of pain, I saw his look; the look of the boy who had braved the white flame at my word, and lifted the enchanted sword. "I doubt nothing," said Arthur.
Then he laughed, leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, and, with his Companions following, went swiftly out of the hall.
The pain lifted. I could breathe and see. I got up and walked after them, out into the air. Those left in the hall drew back and let me through. No one spoke to me, or dared to question.