The Last Enchantment - Mary Stewart [82]
This, and much else besides, I had explained to Derwen. He had been skeptical at first, and only his respect for me had kept him, I could tell, from flat and mulish disagreement -- especially about the gates, for which he could see no precedent; and most engineers and architects work, reasonably enough, from well-proved precedent, especially in matters of war and defense. At first he could see no reason to abandon the well-tried model of twin turrets and guard-rooms. But in time, sitting hour by hour over my plans, and conning the lists I had had drawn up of the materials already available on the site, he came to a qualified acceptance of my amalgam of stone and woodworking, and thence to a sort of guarded enthusiasm over all. He was enough of a professional to find excitement in new ideas, especially since any blame for failure would be mine and not his.
Not that blame was likely. Arthur, taking part in the planning sessions, was enthusiastic, but -- as he pointed out when deferred to over some technical point -- he knew his own business, and he would trust us to know ours. We all knew what the place's function would be; it was up to us to build it accordingly. Once we had built it (he concluded with the brevity of total and unconscious arrogance) he would know how to keep it.
Now, on site at last, and with good weather come early and looking settled, Derwen started work with keenness and dispatch, and before the old herdsman had called the cows home for the first evening's milking, the pegs were driven in, trenches had been started, and the first wagon-load of supplies was groaning uphill behind its straining oxen.
Caer Camel was rising again. The King was coming back.
***
He came on a bright day of June. He rode up from the village on his grey mare Amrei, accompanied by Bedwyr and his foster-brother Cei and perhaps a dozen others of his cavalry captains. These were now commonly known as the equites or knights; Arthur himself called them his "Companions." They rode without armour, like a hunting-party. Arthur swung from his mare's back, threw the reins to Bedwyr, and while the others dismounted and let their horses graze, he trod up the slope of blowing grass alone.
He saw me, and lifted a hand, but did not hurry. He paused by the outer revetment, and spoke to the men working there, then walked out onto the planking that bridged a trench, while the labourers straightened from their tasks to answer his questions. I saw one of them point something out to him; he looked that way, and then all about him, before he left them to mount the central ridge where the foundations for his headquarters had been dug. From there he could command the whole area, and make some sense, perhaps, out of the maze of trenching and foundations, half hidden as it was beneath the web of ropes and scaffolding.
He turned slowly on his heel, until he had taken in the full circle. Then he came swiftly over to where I stood, drawings in hand.
"Yes," was all he said, but with a glowing satisfaction. And then: "When?"
"There will be something here for you by winter."
He sent his eyes round again, a look of pride and vision that could have been my own. I knew that he was seeing, as I could see, the finished walls, the proud towers, the stone and timber and iron that would enclose this space of golden summer air, and make it his first creation. It was the look, too, of a warrior who sees a strong weapon being offered to his hand. His eyes, full of this high and fierce satisfaction, came back to me.
"I told you to use a miracle, and I think you have. That is how I see it. Perhaps you are too much of a professional to feel that way, when you see what was only a drawing on clay, or even a thought in your mind, being built into something real that will last for ever?"
"I believe all makers feel this way. I, certainly."
"How fast it has moved! Did you build it with music, like the Giants' Dance?"
"I used the same miracle here. You