Free Sword of the Rightful King by Jane Yolen

voice, only a sort of respectful pleasure.
    Merlinnus was so delighted at that, he let the boy have the last word.

11
Visitor to Cadbury
    T HEY WALKED companionably to the river, which ran noisily between stones. Willows on, the spongy bank wept leaves into the swift current.

    Using the willow trunks for support, Merlinnus sat gingerly on the bank and eased his feet—sandals and all—into the cold water. It was too far and too slippery for him to walk in.
    â€œBring me water to bathe with,” he said, thinking in this way to further test the boys quick-wittedness.
    Gawen stripped off his cap, knelt down, and held the cap in the river. Then he pulled it out and wrung the water over the old man’s outstretched hands.
    Merlinnus liked that. The job had been done, and quickly, with a minimum of fuss. Another boy might have plunged into the river, splashing like an untrained animal. Or begged to be told what to do. Gawen had solved the thing on his own.
    As he wrung out the water, Gawen muttered, “
De matri a patre
.”
    Startled, Merlinnus looked up into the clear, untroubled blue eyes. “You know Latin?”
    The eyes were suddenly hidden, the light in them shielded by long lashes, as if a hand were held before a candle to hide its flame. “Did I say it wrong?” The question came out in a breathy whisper.
    â€œâ€˜From the mother to the father,’ you said. In Latin.”
    â€œThat is what I meant to say.” Gawen’s young face was suddenly transformed by a wide, relaxed smile. “The brothers taught it to me. Some sort of prayer, I think.”
    Merlinnus knew only two monasteries along the coast, and they were both very far away. The sisters of Quintern Abbey were much closer, of course, but they never took in boys.
So this child
, he thought,
has come a very long way indeed
. That explained not only the reading and the Latin but the callused hands. The monks did not shy away from hard work, nor did their boys.
    He did not say any of this to the boy, of course. Let the child think he had fooled an old man. All he said aloud was, “They taught you well.”
    Gawen bent down, dipping the cap once again in the river. This time he used the water to wash his own face and hands. Once the trail markings had been erased, Merlinnus could see he was exceedingly handsome. Almost
too
handsome to be a knight. More the stuff of wandering players or minstrels. Girls would go foolish around him.
    Wringing out the cap thoroughly, Gawen stared piercingly at Merlinnus. Cap in hand, he asked, “Now will you bring me to the High King?”
    â€œYou will do,” said Merlinnus, by way of an answer. “By the tree, you will do.”
    Â 
    A S THEY NEARED Cadbury, walking slowly up past a mass of bluebells toward the turf-and-timbered fortress, the enormous gates yawned open. Set atop a hill and surrounded by a shell wall of stone, with a single high guard tower at the southwest corner, was Cadbury Castle. A dry ditch encircled the whole.
    They walked past the outer bailey, and Gawen gasped at the hurly of people racing around in the courtyards and forecourts. He stared through the haze of cook fires that made the place seem magical even in the middle of the day. Here were the quarters of the guards, the stables, the storehouses, the forge, the well.
    â€œCome, boy,” said Merlinnus, and they continued into the inner bailey where the double keep tower stood. “This is where the king himself stays.”
    If Gawen had gaped at the confusion of the outer bailey and its residents, the inner was even more complex.
    â€œGreat Hall, kitchens, private chambers, kings stables, kings well, workshops,” Merlinnus said, counting them off on his fingers. “And...”—he was extremely proud of this—“the chapel.”
    Gawen nodded.
    The Great Hall was enormous, over sixty feet long and half as wide, made of wattle and daub. Topped by a straw