'Lords and Kings of Britain,' I said, taking up the sword. 'Many among you have proclaimed me High King -'

'Many others have not!' cried Dunaut. 'Everyone knows you have not lifted so much as a knifeblade in years.'

I ignored him.' – And though I could persist in furthering my claim, I will not.'

This stunned nearly everyone, and emboldened Dunaut, who called, 'I say we must choose one who is not afraid to raise the sword in battle.'

I did not let this go unchallenged. 'Do you think me afraid? Does anyone think Myrddin Emrys afraid to use this weapon as it was intended? If that is what you believe step forth and we will put your faith to the test!'

No one was foolish enough to accept my challenge.

'So, it is as I thought,' I told them, 'you believe otherwise. You know it is not for fear that I have refrained from taking up the sword, but because I learned the lessons of war long ago: that a man can kill only so many enemies – so many Saecsens, so many Picti, so many Irish.

'And then there are more Saecsens, more Picti, more Irish and I tell you that though rivers run red with the blood of the foeman and skies blacken with the smoke of their burning corpses they cannot all be killed.'

I felt a stirring in my blood. Words began to burn in my breast.

'This sword is Britain,' I declared, lofting it. 'My claim is no less worthy than any other lord's, and better than some. Yet I am not the man to hold it. He who holds this sword will hold Britain, and he must hold it in a firm and unfaltering grasp.

'Therefore, from this day I will put away the sword, that I may serve and strengthen him who must wield it.

'But I tell you the truth, this sword will not be won by vanity. It will not be gained by arrogance or stiff-necked pride. And it will not be won by one man advancing himself over the bodies of his friends.

The Imperial Sword of Britain will be won by the one king among you who will bend his back to lift other men; it will be gained by the king who puts off pride and arrogance, who puts off vanity and puffed-up ambition, and takes to himself the humility of the lowest stable hand; it will be earned by the man who is master of himself and servant of all.'

These words were not my own; the bard's awen was on me now and, like a fountain pouring forth its gifts unbidden, my tongue gave utterance of its own volition. I spoke and my voice rang out like sounding iron, like a harp struck by an unseen hand.

'Bear witness, all you kings, these are the marks of the man who will make this sword his own:

'He will be a man such as other men will die for; he will love justice, uphold righteousness, do mercy. To the haughty he will be bold, but tender to the meek and downcast. He will be a king such as has never been in this worlds-realm: the least man in his camp shall be a lord, and his chieftains shall be kings of great renown. Chief Dragon of Britain, he shall stand head and shoulders above the rulers of this world in kindness, no less than in valour; in compassion, no less than in prowess. For he will carry the True Light of God in his heart.

'From his eyes will fly fiery embers; each finger on his hand will be as a strong steel band, and his sword-arm judgment's lightning. All men alive in the Island of the Mighty will bow the knee to him. Bards will feast on his deeds, become drunk on his virtue, and sing out unending praises that the knowledge of his reign will reach all lands.

'As long as earth and sky endure, his glory will be in the mouths of men who love honour and peace and goodness. As long as this world lasts, his name will live, and as long as eternity his spirit will endure.

'I, Myrddin Emrys, prophesy this.'

For the space of a dozen heartbeats no one dared speak against me. But the moment passed; the awen moved on. A shout snapped the silence.

'Empty words!' cried Dunaut. 'I demand a sign!'

Coledac and others, too, joined in: 'How will we know this king? There must be a sign.'

I suppose it was only the grasping of drowning men after straws. But it angered me. I could not abide them even a moment longer. Seeing nothing, knowing nothing but the blood-red cast of rage, I fled the church, the sword still in my hand. They all ran after me, their voices bleating in my ears. I did not listen and I did not turn back.

There in the yard before the doorway, where the masons were at work on the arch, lay the enormous keystone. Taking the hilt in my fist, I raised the sword over my head.

'No!' screamed Dunaut wildly. 'Stop him!'

But no one could stop me. I thrust the Sword of Britain down towards that unyielding stone…

The astonishment on their faces made me look as well. The sword had not broken: it stood upright, quivering, buried nearly to the hilt and stuck fast in the stone.

EPILOGUE

Some claim a hand appeared to grasp the naked blade and guide it into the stone; others say a flash of light blinded them for a moment and that when they looked the sword stood in the stone. However it was, all agree the sharp stench of burning stone filled the air and stung their eyes.

'You ask for a sign,' I shouted. 'Here it is: whosoever raises the sword from this stone shall be the true-born king of all Britain. Until that day the land will endure such strife as never known in the Island of the Mighty to this time, and Britain shall have no king.'

So saying, I turned at once and made my way through the shock-silenced crowd. No one called after me this time. I returned to Gradlon's house and gathered my things, while Pelleas saddled the horses.

But a short time later, Pelleas and I rode alone through the narrow streets of Londinium. We reached the gate, passed beneath the wall, and turned onto the road.

The day was far gone; the sun burned yellow-gold in a fading sky. We paused on a hilltop to see our shadows stretched long behind us, reaching back towards the city. But it was not in me to turn back. No, let them do what they would; the future, our salvation, lay elsewhere.

So, setting my face to the west, I rode out in search of Arthur.