Free A Fragile Peace by Paul Bannister

point of his shovel between the revealed stones and soon made a gap that allowed him to begin pulling the ancient stonework away. In a steady hour’s work, he created an entrance to the long-sealed grave mound and slipped inside to conduct some business.

 
    XI - Sword
     
    Gimflod the smith looked carefully at the beautiful small pyramid-shaped jewel nestled in his hardened palm. “An elfstone, you say?” he asked, weighing the purple-yellow crystal. Grabelius nodded. “Very rare, very powerful. Can you incorporate it safely in a sword hilt?” The big smith turned the stone over. “Maybe it would be best to put it into the pommel.” Grabelius nodded again. “That would be fine.” He turned to Milo, who was standing at his shoulder, eyeing the forge. “The nail, my prince?” he said quietly. Arthur’s son fumbled at his waist pouch and produced a carefully-wrapped package. He untied a string and unrolled the soft leather to reveal a nine-inch iron nail. “This is one of the nails used on the True Cross. Bishop Candless sent it just yesterday to the Treasurer’s House. I collected it for you.”
    Gimflod nodded. “I heard there had been an important messenger in Eboracum,” he said, “so this is what it was about.” “Arthur wishes you to incorporate this nail in the sword blade,” said Grabelius. Gimflod waved a hand airily. “Easy enough,” he said. “It’s just a bit more iron in the bloom.” He caught Milo’s eyes and their unspoken question. “You want to know how I make a sword,” he said, happy to be able to display his knowledge. The youth was eager. “Yes, please,” he said.
    “I take iron ore and melt it, that gives me a bloom, which is what we call the lump of iron. It’s like a sponge, with a network of channels inside, all of them filled with molten glass from the impurities in the ore. Hammering and reheating drives out all that, and when it’s gone, I shape the iron into rods. You need five rods to make a blade. You heat them, twist them together and hammer them flat. You fold them over and hammer them some more. A lot. Each hammer blow super-heats the spot, and friction-welds it and eventually, you have steel.”
    He demonstrated, smashing his heavy hammer down on an ingot that was by the forge and sparks flew, landing on Milo’s fine white linen tunic. The smith reached out a dirty hand to brush the embers away and Milo smiled for the first time in days.
    “Mother made this for me,” he said, indicating the beautifully-worked garment with its gold thread and a single blood-red ruby at the throat. “Best not get soot on it, Gimflod.” The smith looked embarrassed, coughed and continued as if nothing had happened.
    “Using those five rods give the blade strength, and the braided mix of iron and carbon creates a distinctive swirling pattern in the finished blade. When that’s done, you grind a channel down the centre to reduce weight and also to make the blade stronger.
    “Then you get busy with a file and create the cutting edges. After that, comes tempering the blade. Get it glowing hot, then plunge it into a bath of boiling salts, before you quench it in oil, which lets it cool evenly so the blade doesn’t fracture or warp. I repeat the tempering process, and use layers of clay to coat the blade except for the edges. you want them harder than the rest of the blade, to hold sharpness, but you want the rest of the sword to flex a little so it isn’t brittle. “
    Gimflod took a swig from the leather wineskin he kept hanging by the forge bellows. “A good sword will bend a little, a poor one will be too hard and can snap under pressure. When I made Exalter for your father, he had a couple of special demands. He wanted it longer than the standard 24-inch Spanish Sword of the old Roman republic, and he wanted elements of both the shorter, broader Pompeii and Mainz blades to be incorporated into it.” He paused, proud of the weapons he had made, and especially delighted