Coledac shoved his way forward. He glared at the sword – as if it were beneath him to touch it – wrapped his hand around the hilt and pulled, releasing it almost at once. He turned and pushed back into the crowd.

Owen Vinddu, the Cerniw chieftain, stood next at the stone, gazing earnestly. And, placing both hands on the hilt, gripped it with such strength his knuckles went white as he pulled. With a mighty groan he fell back, vanquished.

Others crowded in: Ceredigawn of Gwynedd and Ogry-van, his neighbour king; Morganwg, following his son's example, and faring no better; old Antonius of the Cantii, stiff with age, but game to the end… and others – lords, kings, chieftains, each and every one, and their sons as well.

All who had a mind to rule tried that day, and all went down in defeat to the stone until Arthur only was left. The cheering, jeering throng fell silent as they turned to him.

Arthur stood tall and grim, his eyes the colour of the lowering sky, his shoulders straight, lips pressed to a thin, bloodless line. The hardness in him surprised me, and others saw it, too. Yes, he would be a match for the stone – he looked as if made of the very stuff.

He put forth his hand and grasped the hilt as if retrieving it from the gut of an enemy. There came the cold rasp of steel on stone as he pulled, and the gasp of the crowd as he lofted the great weapon and brandished it in the air for all to see.

A few, to their everlasting credit, bent the knee at once, recognizing their king. Most did not. They could not believe what they had seen. Men had waited long years for this sight and then failed to acknowledge it.

What did they expect? An angel hi shining raiment? An Otherworld god?

'Trickery!' The voice was one of Morcant's chieftains who had no doubt been instructed to start the uproar. 'Usurper!' Others salted through the crowd did likewise, trying to raise the rabble against Arthur. But Merlin was ready.

Before the thing could come to blows, he nodded to Urbanus, who stepped up beside Arthur and spread his arms in a gesture of conciliation. 'Silence!' he cried. 'Why do you persist in doubting what you have seen with your own eyes? On this day of Christ Mass let there be no dissension among us. Rather let us enter the church and pray God's guidance as Christian men ought. Then let us sit together and take counsel with one another, and so determine what is best to do.'

This was unexpected. The dissenting lords had thought only of rebellion and bloodshed, and were unprepared to answer the calm reason of Urbanus' suggestion. Ectorius was quick to ratify the plan. 'Well said!' he shouted. 'We are reasonable and temperate men. Where is the harm in sitting down together? And what better place than this holy church?'

The dissenters were hard-pressed to answer. If they refused, the people would know them for the traitors they were, and would proclaim Arthur. Yet conceding to Urbanus' suggestion admitted Arthur's claim as genuine. They were neatly trapped.

Urbanus saw their hesitation and knew its cause. 'Come,' he said reasonably. 'Put aside strife and vain contention. On this high and holy day let there be peace among us. Come into the church.'

The people murmured their approval, and the small kings realized that this particular battle was lost. 'Very well,' said Morcant, rallying his forces, 'let us take counsel and decide what is best. I invoke the Council of Kings.' He hoped with this to imply that the matter was far from settled, and that he was in authority. So saying, he turned and led the way into the church.

If he hoped to benefit by taking the seat of honour for himself, that hope died stillborn in his breast. Merlin had instructed Urbanus to arrange the kings' chairs in a large circle inside the sanctuary – as had been done in Aurelius' and Other's time, but never since.

Thus seated, no king stood above his brothers; therefore, no lord's opinion counted for more than another's. This lessened Morcant's hold on the lords below him.

Morcant did not like it, but there was nothing he could do. He stalked to bis chair, turned, and sat down with as much superiority as he could command. Others took chairs on either side of him as they chose, their advisers and counsellors ranged around them, and the more curious of Londinium's citizens filled in behind. Within moments the vast room, alight with hundreds of candles and fragrant with the haze of incense, buzzed like a hornet's hive. Urbanus could not have imagined a larger gathering for Christ Mass.

Consequently, he could not allow the opportunity to go unmarked. So he began the council with an admonitory prayer – both in Latin and in the British tongue, so that no one would fail to understand what he said. And he said it at some length.

'All Wise Father,' he concluded, 'Great Giver and Guide, lead us in wisdom and righteousness to the king you have chosen, and grant us peace in the choosing. Bless our counsel with the light of your presence, and let each man among us please you in thought and word and deed.'

His prayer finished at last, Urbanus rose and turned to the assembly: 'It is many years since this body has gathered in accord; many years since a High King ruled in Britain – much to our hurt, I declare.' He paused and allowed his gaze to sweep across the entire throng before continuing. Therefore, I charge you: let not this council depart hence without redressing this wrong by establishing the High Kingship once more.'

The people liked the sound of that and chorused their approval. Urbanus then turned to Merlin. 'I stand ready to serve in any way you deem useful.'

'Thank you, Bishop Urbanus,' Merlin said, dismissing him. He addressed Morcant at once. 'As you have called this council, Morcant,' he began, 'perhaps you should tell us why you will not accept the sign by which we all agreed the next High King of Britain should be recognized. For, unless you have discovered some compelling reason why we should disregard the thing we have seen with our own eyes, I tell you all that the High King stands before you this day with the Sword of Britain in his hand.'

Morcant frowned. 'There is every reason to disregard what we have seen. This is, as we all know, an evil age; there is much sorcery in the land round about. How do we know that what we have seen with our own eyes,' he mocked the phrase, 'was not accomplished by enchantment?'

'How by enchantment, Morcant?' demanded Merlin. 'Make plain your objection: do you accuse Arthur of sorcery?'

Morcant's frown deepened. To imply sorcery was far simpler than proving it. He had no proof and knew it. 'Am I a sorcerer that I know such things?' he fumed.

'You were the one to name the sin among us. I put it to you, Morcant, is Arthur a sorcerer?'

His face twisted with rage, Morcant nevertheless held his temper and answered reasonably. 'I have no proof save the sword in his hand. If it was not gained by sorcery, I demand to know by what power it was obtained.'

'By the power of virtue and true nobility,' Merlin declared. 'The same power given to all who will choose it.'

The people cheered at this, and Morcant realized he was losing ground to Merlin's wit and logic. Yet he could not help himself. Spreading his arms to the assembly, he demanded, 'Do you malign the nobility of the good men here assembled? Do you impugn their virtue?'

'The words are yours, Morcant. I merely uphold the virtue and nobility of the one standing before us,' Merlin lifted a hand to Arthur standing rigid beside him. 'If you feel maligned and impugned in his presence,' he said, 'no doubt it is the truth working in you.'

'Are you God that you presume to know the truth?' sneered Morcant.

'And are you such a stranger to the truth that you no longer recognize it?' Merlin made a dismissing gesture with his hands. 'Stop this foolishness, Morcant. If you have objections, speak them out.' He included the others in his challenge. 'If anyone knows just reason why Arthur should not receive the High Kingship he has won by right, I command you to speak now!'