Lies, Damned Lies, and History(31)

I had no idea what was going on here, but whatever it was, it was very, very important.

Arthur spoke. I couldn’t make out the words, but his voice was deep and solemn. He was taking an oath over the sword.

The old man, clad in dingy white robes and none too clean himself, stepped forward, and with great reverence and honour, accepted the sword.

A kind of sigh went up from those around me. A covenant had been made.

My mind was racing. Arthur had presented the people of Caer Guorthigirn with his sword. Well, a sword, anyway. Maybe he did this after every battle. As a symbolic gesture of his protection. Was this how the legends of Arthur’s mighty sword were born?

I strained for a glimpse of the sword itself. I couldn’t see clearly, but this was no Excalibur. This was an ordinary broadsword, tapering to a point. Peterson’s the weapons expert, but I could see it was modern in design with a pommel rather than the old-fashioned, washer-style handle. The handle looked golden, but I was willing to bet it was gilt. It wouldn’t be gold if he was handing them out all over the country.

Arthur bowed, although whether to the sword or the old man was not clear. Maybe both. The old man raised up the sword, holding it above his head where everyone could see it, flourished it three times, and then, still without a sound, turned and, I supposed, re-entered the cave, although a long curtain of ivy obscured him somewhat and when I looked again he was gone.

‘Where did he go?’ whispered Roberts. ‘I’ve been inside this cave. It’s quite shallow. Doesn’t go anywhere.’

‘Maybe not in our time,’ said Peterson. ‘Today though, I think I could believe anything.’

We’d had the forethought to collect our gear. No one had fancied struggling back up the hill again. As the crowd dispersed, we made our way slowly through the woods, back to the pod.

In the distance, I heard a thunder of hoofs. The great horn sounded again – in farewell, this time. Had Arthur already been called away to fight somewhere else? Was he, at this moment, riding hard into that faint light in the east? To his next battle?

We returned to the pod to find someone had already stacked a pile of logs against it. A tribute to the genius design, I suppose, but a bloody nuisance to have to clear away.

Our return was uneventful. We touched down gently and I operated the decontamination system. No one had been injured. Well, no one had been badly injured. Just for once, we could exit the pod, intact and successful.

I smiled reassuringly at Leon, who grinned back, and we all traipsed off to Sick Bay to listen to Hunter giving Markham a hard time about something. I spent the night sorting through our material and writing my report. Out of consideration to Dr Bairstow, some parts of it had to be quite carefully worded. Reading it through, I was rather proud. Without actually saying so, I’d managed to give the impression that I’d spent the day sitting in a well-appointed barn, completely divorced from whatever nastiness was going on out there. I deflected him further by spending a considerable amount of time describing the sword and recommending the location be passed to Thirsk for them to investigate further. Imagine if it was still in there somewhere. Arthur’s sword! I stuck my initials all over everything, bundled up my report with everyone else’s and sent it off to the Boss. Who requested the pleasure of my company first thing the next morning.

When I arrived, he had my report open in front of him. Some parts were highlighted. I thought I would pre-empt the inevitable.

‘I was never in any danger, sir. I was in the second compound, which never actually came under any attack at all. We all sat quietly and were rescued.’

He refused to be deflected.

‘You were, nevertheless, involved in a 6th-century conflict.’

‘Only very peripherally, sir. In fact, I wouldn’t dignify it with the word “conflict”. It was more of a 6th-century scuffle.’

‘Despite scanning your report very carefully, I seem unable to locate your reasons for not immediately returning to St Mary’s the moment it became apparent you were about to be involved in this … scuffle.’

Well, that wasn’t surprising because I hadn’t given any. The opportunity had been too good to pass up. And we’d seen Arthur. And his sword. I did think he was being just a little ungrateful. It seemed safer, however, not to mention this.

‘Well, we didn’t know that at the time, sir.’

‘So, the panic-stricken populace fleeing for their lives in terror, the burning buildings, the assembled soldiers – all that passed you by? Should I recommend you to Dr Foster for an eye test?’

Shit. That wasn’t good. I’ve never said anything, but sometimes, when I’m a bit tired, I can’t always make out small print. Or really, any print at all. Long sight was no problem. I would easily be able to see the bus that would run me over. I just wouldn’t be able to make out the number and route. You can’t wear spectacles on assignment and so I’d been telling myself it was just a side-effect of pregnancy. Inconvenient but temporary.