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where the molten metal had filled the air holes in the mould.
These I would file off in a few minutes, once I had recaptured my breath
completely. I was beginning to feel a mighty exaltation. The gold cockle-shell
of the pommel was perfect, as was the junction where the second pour, the
gold, had knitted to the bronze of the first pour.
"Now what, Publius?"
I smiled at him again, feeling weary and yet triumphant. "Now I clean it,
polish it and add the shark-skin grip."
"How long will that take?"
I shrugged. "An hour, perhaps less, to clean it and polish it. A day to add
the grip, I would guess."
"May I hold it?"
I shook my head. "No, not yet. It's not ready yet. Give me an hour to clean
it, then you can hold it."
"May I watch while you clean it?"
I laughed at his little-boy eagerness, but I was pleased. "You can watch." I
reached for a small file on the bench.
Less than an hour later the job was done and the effect was breath-taking. The
golden cockle-shell pommel was superb, every line cleanly etched, and the
Celtic scrollwork on the thick cross-guard was crystalline in its purity. I
had avoided grasping the hilt in all this time, and I had not used the file on
the
gritty texture of the hand-grip itself. As I applied one final flourish with
the polishing cloth, Plautus was fiddling with the shark-skin square.
"You know," he said, "I don't want to sound critical, but this stuff is almost
as silver as the blade, and the pommel's gold. Your cross-guard is going to
look dull by comparison. It's just plain bronze. Had you thought about that?"
"I've thought about it." I stood up and eased a kink out of my back. "I'm
going to coat the cross-guard with silver leaf."
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"With what?"
I pointed to a box close by his hand. "Sheet silver, beaten so fine that it's
almost weightless and transparent. There's some in that box there."
While he was looking at the silver leaf, I released the sword from the clamps
that held it and closed my fist firmly around the hilt for the first time.
"Now!" I swung it into the air and my heart almost broke with joy to feel the
beauty of it in my hand. All the worry, all the fears, had been for nothing.
Our agonizing calculations of the weight and balance had been accurate.
Now
I was holding perfection!
"Excalibur," I said.
"What?"
"Excalibur. That's its name. That's what I've called the sword. That's what it
is."
Plautus blinked at me. "Excalibur? I must be stupid. I've never heard it
before."
"No, Plautus," I said, "you're not stupid. It's never been said before.
Calibur 
qalibr
 is the north
African desert people's word for a mould. This came out of a mould...
Excalibur." I handed it to him.
"Don't touch the edges, if you want to keep your fingers." Minutely graduated
lines rippled like water-marks along each side of the long blade, flowing
outward from the thick central spine to edges sharper than any I had ever
known, reflecting the light in their patterns and showing where the metal had
been folded upon itself and beaten times without number during the tempering
process.
He grasped the hilt and swung the sword and his eyes grew wide. "My God! What
a weapon!
Excalibur." He swung again and ended up with the point towards the open door
just as Andros appeared in the opening.
Andros crouched in the doorway, squinting with sun-dazzled eyes into the
blackness of the smithy.
"Publius? Are you in there? Picus is home."
"Picus?" I swung to Plautus in pleased surprise. "He's here? That's wonderful!
Have you seen him?"
Andros had come into the forge now and he was gazing at the sword in Plautus's
hand as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. "You opened it! Did it work? Is it
right?"
Plautus held the sword out to him. "It's perfect," I said. "We have made a
masterwork, you and Equus and I. Where is Equus, by the way? And when did
Picus arrive?"
He was gazing at the hilt from a distance of about a handsbreadth, peering
closely at the details of the
scrollwork and the cockle-shell as he answered me. "Equus is up on the hill at
the other forge. I was there with him for a while, working on some drawings he
has need of." His voice was barely audible, so intent was he on examining the
hilt.
"And Picus? When did he come?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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