Читать книгу The Sword in the Stone - T. H. White - Страница 13

CHAPTER FOUR

The Wart started talking before he was halfway over the drawbridge. “Look who I’ve brought,” he said. “Look! I’ve been on a Quest. I was shot at with three arrows. They had black and yellow stripes. The owl is called Archimedes. I saw King Pellinore. This is my tutor, Merlyn. I went on a Quest for him. He was after the Questing Beast. I mean King Pellinore. It was terrible in the forest. Merlyn made the plates wash up. Hallo, Hob. Look, we have got Cully.”

Hob just looked at the Wart, but so proudly that the Wart went quite red. It was such a pleasure to be back home again with all his friends, and everything achieved.

Hob said gruffly, “Ah, master, us shall make an austringer of ’ee yet.”

He came for Cully, as if he could not keep his hands off him any longer, but he patted the Wart too, fondling them both because he was not sure which he was gladder to see back. He took Cully on his own fist, reassuming him like a lame man putting on his accustomed wooden leg, after it had been lost.

“Merlyn caught him,” said the Wart. “He sent Archimedes to look for him on the way home. Then Archimedes told us that he had been and killed a pigeon and was eating it. We went and frightened him off. After that, Merlyn stuck six of the tail feathers round the pigeon in a circle, and made a loop in a long piece of string to go round the feathers. He tied one end to a stick in the ground, and he went away behind a bush with the other end. He said he wouldn’t use magic. He said you couldn’t use magic in Great Arts, like it would be unfair to make a great statue by magic. You have to cut it out with a chisel, you see. Then Cully came down to finish the pigeon, and we pulled the string, and the loop slipped over the feathers and caught him round the legs. He was angry. But we gave him the pigeon.”

Hob made a duty to Merlyn, who returned it courteously. They looked upon one another with grave affection and eagerness, knowing each other to be masters of the same trade. When they could be alone together they could talk and talk, although each was naturally a silent man. Meanwhile they must wait their time.

“Oh, Kay,” cried the Wart, as the latter appeared with their nurse and other delighted welcomers. “Look I have got a magician for our tutor. He has a mustard-pot that walks.”

“I am glad you are back,” said Kay.

“Alas, where did you sleep, Master Art?” exclaimed the nurse. “Look at your clean jerkin all muddied and torn. Such a turn as you gave us, I really don’t know. But look at your poor hair with all them twigs in it. Oh, my own random, wicked little lamb.”

Sir Ector came bustling out with his greaves on back to front, and kissed the Wart on both cheeks. “Well, well, well,” he exclaimed moistly. “Here we are again, hey? What the devil have you been doin’, hey? Settin’ the whole household upside down.”

But inside him he was proud of the Wart for staying out after a hawk, and prouder still to see that he had got it, for all the while Hob held the bird in the air for everybody to see.

“Oh, sir,” said the Wart. “I have been on that Quest you said for a tutor, and I have found him. Please, he is this gentleman here, and he is called Merlyn. He has got some badgers and hedgehogs and mice and things on this white donkey here, because we couldn’t leave them behind to starve. He is a great musician, and can make things come out of the air.”

“Ah, a magician,” said Sir Ector, putting on his glasses and looked closely at Merlyn. “White magic, I hope?”

“Assuredly,” said Merlyn, who stood patiently among all this throng with his arms folded in his necromantic gown, and Archimedes sitting very stiff and elongated on the top of his head.

“Ought to have some testimonials, you know,” said Sir Ector doubtfully. “It’s usual.”

“Testimonials,” said Merlyn, holding out his hand.

Instantly there were some heavy tablets in it, signed by Aristotle, a parchment signed by Hecate, and some typewritten duplicates signed by the Master of Trinity, who could not remember having met him. All these gave Merlyn an excellent character.

“He had ’em up his sleeve,” said Sir Ector wisely. “Can you do anything else?”

“Tree,” said Merlyn. At once there was an enormous mulberry growing in the middle of the courtyard, with its luscious blue fruits ready to patter down.

“They do it with mirrors,” said Sir Ector.

“Snow,” said Merlyn. “And an umbrella,” he added hastily.

Before they could turn round the copper sky of summer had assumed a cold and lowering bronze, while the biggest white flakes that were ever seen were floating about them and settling on the battlements. An inch of snow had fallen before they could speak, and all were trembling with the wintry blast. Sir Ector’s nose was blue, and had an icicle hanging from the end of it, while all except Merlyn had a ledge of snow upon their shoulders. Merlyn stood in the middle, holding his umbrella high because of the owl.

“It’s done by hypnotism,” said Sir Ector, with chattering teeth. “Like those wallahs from the Indies.

“But that’ll do, you know,” he added hastily, “that’ll do very well. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent tutor for teachin’ these boys.”

The snow stopped immediately and the sun came out – “Enough to give a body a pewmonia,” said the nurse, “or to frighten the elastic commissioners” – while Merlyn folded up his umbrella and handed it back to the air, which received it.

“Imagine the boy doin’ a quest like that all by himself,” exclaimed Sir Ector. “Well, well, well. Wonders never cease.”

“I don’t think much of it as a quest,” said Kay. “He only went after the hawk, after all.”

“And got the hawk, Master Kay,” said Hob reprovingly.

“Oh well,” said Kay, “I bet the old man caught it for him.”

“Kay,” said Merlyn, suddenly terrible, “thou wast ever a proud and ill-tongued speaker, and a misfortunate one. Thy sorrow will come from thine own mouth.”

At this everybody felt uncomfortable, and Kay, instead of flying into his usual passion, hung his head. He was not at all an unpleasant person really, but clever, quick, proud, passionate and ambitious. He was one of those people who would be neither a follower or a leader, but only an aspiring heart, impatient in the failing body which imprisoned it. Merlyn repented of his rudeness at once. He made a little silver hunting-knife come out of the air, which he gave him to put things right. The knob of the handle was made of the skull of a stoat, oiled and polished like ivory, and Kay loved it.