Orion and King Arthur by Ben Bova

rough trestle table that took up much of his room. Sir Bors stood behind him, looking suspicious, as usual.
    Merlin, standing beside the merchant, said, “Apparently he was killed by his own men, who were shamed by his flight at the battle.”
    Arthur leaned back in the creaking chair. Stroking his light beard, he muttered,“So much for the self-styled Bretwalda.” Then he looked up at Isaac once again and asked, “Does my uncle know of this?”
    “Your uncle, sir?”
    “Ambrosius, the High King.”
    Isaac’s eyes slid toward Merlin, then back to Arthur. “The High King is your uncle?”
    “He is,” said Arthur. “And he must be told of Aelle’s death immediately.”
    As soon as Arthur asked his knights for a volunteer to carry thenews to the High King, young Lancelot begged for the mission.
    “It won’t be easy,” Arthur warned the youth. “You’ll have to ride alone through deep woods and dark nights.”
    Lancelot was practically quivering with enthusiasm. “I can do it, lord! Please let me do it!”
    Before the sun set, Lancelot galloped off for Cadbury on the fastest horse in our fort, trailing two other mounts behind him. Arthur,Bors, and I watched him disappear over the ridgeline from the parapet.
    Bors shook his head. “That lad has more guts than brains,” he muttered.
    Isaac took his pick of the battle spoils, offering in return fine linen tunics, iron cook pots, blankets that looked newly weaved. The knights bargained with him day and night; Isaac never pressed them, he seemed content to accept whatever they demandedof him.
    The evening before he was to leave, I went out to his wagon, where he was bundling the Saxon booty into rough burlap sacks.
    “Are you satisfied with what you’ve gained?” I asked him.
    Isaac shrugged in the gathering shadows. “Am I satisfied? Why not?”
    “I think you could have bargained harder.”
    With a sardonic little smile, Isaac replied, “And make your fine knights angry with me? It’sbad enough that the priest hates me. I’m not going to make enemies of men who carry swords.”
    I helped him lift a bundle and shove it into his cluttered wagon. “You’re very cautious.”
    “I’m alive. Killing a Jew isn’t a crime to these people, you know.”
    “These people? You don’t think I’m one of them?”
    The sun had dipped below the wooded hills, but I could see the crafty expression on Isaac’sface. “You are taller than the rest of them. Your skin is almost as dark as mine. You’re no Briton.”
    “You’re very observant,” I said.
    “A Jew needs to be observant,” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “And compliant. A Jew can’t afford to make enemies. They already hate me.”
    “You follow a difficult path.”
    With a shrug, Isaac replied, “I manage to survive.”
    A sudden thought occurredto me. “You offered no coin for any of the spoils.”
    “Coin?” Isaac looked startled. “If they thought I carried coin with me they’d slit my throat on the spot and ransack my wagon.”
    Raising my hands, I said, “Sorry. Forget that I mentioned it.”
    “Just don’t mention it to them, ” Isaac whispered.
    Gold was so rare and precious among the Britons that it was the cause of murders, even among the Christians.Strange, I thought, how easily men forget their religion over gold, or anything else they covet.
    By the time Isaac finished packing his wagon it was fully night, cloudy, moonless.
    “Will you come into the fort for supper with me?” I asked him.
    Shaking his head, he said, “I will stay here with my goods. I have a little bread and a few lentils.”
    “I don’t think any of the men would pilfer yourwagon,” I told him. “Arthur wouldn’t allow it.”
    With that sad little smile of his, Isaac replied, “Arthur I trust. But the others…” He waggled a hand.
    So I stayed with the merchant, shared his bread and lentils—and a pair of ripe apples that he pulled out of a burlap sack—and slept the night on the