“You are a child still!  You cannot participate in the tournament, you are too young!  You do not even have a sword!”  Stung by his elder brother’s taunting words, young Arthur looked around for a sword, and suddenly he saw a big one, stuck in an anvil on top of a gray stone.  Without dismounting he picked it up, sheath and all.  It lay in his hand willingly, like a bride with her new husband; it shone in his hand, as bright as lightning.

Sir Ector had already heard of the magic sword and its mysterious inscription.  He was also the only man alive, with Merlin in the forest, who knew Arthur’s true father and his history.  He dismounted and knelt down.  Trembling with veneration for the sign of God he had just witnessed, the old nobleman exclaimed: “Hail Arthur, king of Britain by the grace of God!”

Many people on the square heard this and, looking up, saw the young Arthur seated on his horse, his face illuminated by the miraculous sword he was holding aloft in his right hand, like David holding King Saul’s spear.  All the people followed Sir Ector’s example and knelt before their king.  Some ran to warn the bishop, who came forth from the church and, seeing Arthur with the royal sword in his hand, declared he would anoint him king.

And thus it happened! On the Day of Three Kings, that is the eve of Twelfth Night, Arthur was crowned king of Logres, the land we now call England.  That same spring he led his armies—intrepid men, who were fired by the presence of their new leader—against the heathen invaders.  Within a few years, Wales, Ireland, and even Scotland were freed from the scourge of Saxon raiders.

Born in the Netherlands, Jan Knappert is a lecturer at the School of Oriental and
African Studies at the University of London.