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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1710666
by caryjr
Rated: E · Short Story · Biographical · #1710666
An eye witness account of the rise of King Arthur
Alas! It was a wondrous sight indeed, to watch this Arthur wrest the Caledfwlch sword from its resting place in the stone. Behold! We in the village have been blessed with our one true king! O, the sight of this hero in our midst. His flowing locks wave in the breeze, as his eyes gleam upwards towards the heavens. His immortal arm now extends the sword skyward; and it glistens as if God himself is grasping Caledfwlch. It was such a tremendous sight for a young boy such as I to witness such magnificence.

O, indeed our hero, our Lord, our king, has been blessed unto us. Our enemies will now quake at the sight of our king, at the sight of the Round Table Knights, at the sight of Caledfwlch, whose glow can be seen across all the lands and the oceans in the world. The Saxons, the Britons, the Irish, the northern marauders, and the Gauls; they will now all fall into line behind the Sword!

My father says I am a foolish boy for getting excited; no one man can conquer the world he says. Alas, I say, Arthur is no man, but a god-like human come to lead us to prosperity. King Arthur stands taller than any horse I have ever seen, and is built as solid as the highest mountain. These knights of the King send the storms and demons fleeing with the sounds of triumph that accompanies them when they ride. Evil dares not come close to a Welshman with Arthur on the throne.

The sights and the sounds of the townspeople fill all the hills with an energy that has never been seen by man. Our fate is in front of us, our future once again secure. Soon we will behold our new queen Guinevere; whose beauty we are told is as comparable to the most magnificent sunrise one can imagine. A noblewoman that all can admire, she is rumored to have descended from Roman aristocracy, which I find hard to believe. A woman so beautiful and intelligent could only be a Welsh woman.

Ahh! The sounds of horns beckon from the edge of the village! Queen Guinevere has arrived! The townspeople dropping to bow looks like a mighty hand was pushing them down as it moves across the crowd. That mighty hand belongs to Arthur, the hero of our people.

The noble knights, a dozen strong, move in from the forest in a fast and blinding whirlwind. The armor on these knights shines almost as bright as Arthur’s sword, and the horses are whiter than the winter snows. Such a display of riding these knights have shown; they hold all the talents of the greatest horsemen we have ever known.

From the horses they dismount, and begin to pair up. Swords fly out from their sides, whipping at each other with such fury that will awaken the dead in a moment. Their swords, swinging mightily at each other, take on a strange song that enchants the crowd. The knights are all smiling at the looks on the townspeople’s faces; as if they are saying to each other, “do they really think they would harm each other”? This display is magical; the skill that is displayed is breathtaking. If only I could grow to be one of them someday.

As the king and queen depart, the king inspires us with his booming voice…the voice of a living god! The townspeople are drinking in his honor, and not one word escapes the ears of those present. As he waves his goodbye, and mounts his horse to ride off, a warm glow surrounds us all. We all cheer as loud as we can as they move out of sight. Slowly the glow of the knight’s armor vanishes into the sky, as we all now begin to return to our daily duties full of energy and hope.

My father soon whisked me home, and left me inside as he left to tend to the horses. While father was outside, I quickly found the sword he used in countless battles, and removed it from its resting place. The steel felt very cold in my hands, and my arms began to shake from the weight of it. This king and these knights of ours are so mighty to be able to use this so handily.

I began to swing the sword all around; first to the right, then to the left….jab, jab, jab, swing! I had swung the sword too far to my left, making a stinging cut in my left shoulder. As I began to cry, my father placed his hand upon my head. My heart jumped, startled, as I had not heard him enter. My father then said “Would the king cry if he felt the steel? Come, I will show you the proper way to handle a sword, so that perhaps one day you too can be like King Arthur”.

© Copyright 2010 caryjr (caryjr73 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1710666