Arthur pc-3 Page 11

  'I understand, Elfodd.' Merlin sighed. 'Never doubt it.'

  'Sorcery is an abomination – '

  'And never doubt my loyalty,' Merlin added. Though he spoke softly, I heard the steel in his voice. 'I will do what I have to do.'

  The abbot gazed at Merlin for a moment, nodded, and turned to leave. 'Farewell, Merlin.' he called. 'Come to the Shrine for a blessing before you leave.'

  'Farewell, Elfodd.' Merlin watched until Elfodd had crossed the yard and disappeared beyond the gate, then turned to me. 'He thinks I practise sorcery – they all think that. For the love of God, are they insane? Why do they doubt me?'

  'They doubt because they do not know you,' I said, although no reply was expected.

  'Have I lived this long in the service of the Truth only to be reviled? They believe me a traitor, Pelleas.'

  They are confused. They do not know.'

  'Then they do not think!' he growled.

  It was no use talking to him; I could only make matters worse trying to reason with him. He would hear nothing I said.

  Anyway, I did not know myself what answer to make. My heart agreed with Merlin: that of all men the faithful should have more faith in him. His every thought was for the Truth, and for Britain and the good of its people. As some have said: Merlin is the Soul of Britain.

  He had power, yes. Very great power.

  But I tell you the truth, Merlin never used his power for his own gain. All Heaven bear witness! If he had so chosen, he could have been High King. He could have been emperor!

  Downcast and discouraged, Merlin sought solace in his time of need. He walked along the lake, and among the apples hanging golden and ripe for the harvest, letting the peace of the Glass Isle spread its healing into his soul. Left to himself, I think he would happily have stayed at Ynys Avallach for ever.

  But the days turned grey and the wind blew a chill reminder of the winter to come, and Merlin heeded the warning. 'Time is fleeting, and we are needed elsewhere,' he said, one rainy morning. 'Arthur will be wondering what has become of us.'

  By this I knew that the Glass Isle had completed its work in him and he was ready to face the world of men once more. Avallach and Charis were sorry to see us leave so soon, but accepted Merlin's decision with all good grace. I spent the day assembling the necessary provisions for the journey, and Merlin rode to the Shrine to pray, and to take his leave of Elfodd as he had promised.

  I finished late in the afternoon, but Merlin had not returned. I waited. Charis came into the hall, then, and we talked of this and that, but I noticed that her eyes kept stealing to the doorway and the yard beyond. She too was anxious about Merlin's return.

  As the last light of afternoon faded from the sky to the east, she said, 'Something has happened to him. We should go down there.'

  I agreed. We rode the steep and narrow trail down to the causeway below the Tor, across the marsh and around the lake to the little abbey that stands at the foot of the Shrine.

  We were met by several monks, who indicated that Merlin had indeed gone up to the Shrine and had asked to be left alone. No one had seen him since. No one had dared disturb him.

  Charis thanked the brothers and we continued on our way, climbing the path leading to the Shrine.

  Shrine Hill is a small hump of earth lying hard by the Tor. It is an ancient and holy place, for it is here that word of the Blessed Christ first reached the Island of the Mighty. And here the worship of the True God first began in this land.

  The Shrine itself is a small, round building of wattle and mud, washed white with lime. The bare earth floor is swept every day, and the thatched roof is continually renewed, so that the tiny chapel always appears new-made.

  In recent years, an abbey was constructed nearby at the foot of the hill, so that the Shrine will never lack for care. The abbey itself has become a place of healing – due largely to the ministrations of Charis. The Lady of the Lake, as she is called by the humble folk, is known to be a skilled and compassionate healer.

  We mounted the hill and walked to the Shrine. No sound came from within. The air was dead; nothing moved, no bird sang the evensong. We listened for a moment, then stepped through the low doorway. Inside the shadows deepened to dusk.

  At first we did not see anything but a dark heap before the altar – as if a careless monk had left a tangle of clothing there. We approached and Charis knelt down.

  'Merlin?' She reached out a hand and the heap moved at her touch. There was a rustle of cloth and Merlin rolled over. 'Merlin?'

  'Oh – Mother… ' His face shone pale in the fading light. 'I – I must have fallen asleep.'

  'Come,' said Charis, bending over him, 'we will take you home now.'

  'Mother,' said Merlin, getting to his knees and unwinding the altar cloth from around him. He appeared haggard and gaunt – as if he had been battling demons in his sleep. 'I am sorry. I meant to have this day with you, and I – '

  'It is well,' Charis replied quickly. 'Come, we will go home now.'

  Merlin rose slowly. I picked up the altar cloth, shook it out, and placed it back on the altar. As I turned to follow Merlin and Charis out, I noticed a dark place on the ground… Sweat? Tears?

  The earth was damp where Merlin had lain his head.

  ELEVEN

  We departed the Glass Isle the next day as we had planned, much to Charis' misgiving. It was not a happy farewell. We all knew too much of the evil stalking the land, and the havoc Morgian could wreak with her power. Our thoughts were heavy with foreboding.

  The world, with the change of season, had become a colder, wilder place. Summer had fled like a hart through the brake, and an early winter stood poised for the chase.

  The land brooded doom. Menacing, sinister – as if desolation lurked behind every tree and destruction behind every hill. Wickedness inhabited each wilderness, and iniquity streamed from every lonely place.

  I do not recall ever passing through a land so gravid with apprehension. The way became strange; familiar pathways seemed malignant with peril. Every plodding step was laboured and slow.

  Merlin, wrapped in his cloak, journeyed with his head down, hands folded on the pommel of his saddle. A passer-by might have mistaken his attitude for that of prayerful meditation. It was not. It was the posture of a defeated chieftain returning in humiliation and disgrace.

  One grey afternoon, as we rode through Morganwg's lands, we encountered a band of Iceni fifty strong – old men, women, and children mostly – leading a few head of cattle and some sheep. Four wagons creaked slowly along behind them. Aside from the lowing of the cattle, and the creak of the wagon wheels, they made no sound as they trudged through the gathering mist.

  Merlin hailed them and they halted to give us the sorry news: their settlement and many others like it had been destroyed by a Saecsen raid three days before.

  'That is bitter to hear,' replied Merlin in all sympathy.

  'There is no cheer in the telling,' spat the group's leader, a man with an axe wound in his side. 'The shore forts fell at once. There was no defence at all.'

  'What of Coledac?' wondered Merlin.

  'Killed with the warband. Every man of them dead. No one escaped, and the Sea Wolves left none alive. When the strongholds fell, the barbarians turned to the farms. We fled when we saw the smoke in the east.'

  'Our settlement was small – the others were attacked first… and destroyed,' lamented the haggard woman who stood beside him.

  'That is so,' agreed the man unhappily. 'I fear the other holdings had the worst of it. From what we are hearing, it was much worse in the south along the Saecsen Shore.'

  Commending them to God, we rode on.

  That night Merlin gazed into the flames of our desultory camp fire searching for a sign. There was little hope in what he saw, little light to hold against the gathering darkness. In all it was a drear and cheerless journey, and a sorry return.

  We arrived at Caer Melyn in driving rain. Soaked to the skin, shivering with cold, w
e stood before the fire in Arthur's new-finished hall, feeling the life seep back into our stiff limbs. Arthur brought spiced wine to us and served us from his own hand.

  'Myrddin! Pelleas! It is a fine and happy sight I am seeing! Welcome, welcome!' Arthur called in greeting. His smile was as immense as it was genuine. 'How did you fare in the south, my friends?'

  Merlin did not have it in him to soften his reply. 'Disaster threatens, boy,' he said, 'and darkness must soon overtake us.'

  Arthur, the smile still on his broad happy face, glanced from one to the other of us, as if unwilling to believe. Indeed, the hall was warm, the fire bright – despairing words held little meaning. 'How so?'

  'There is a power in this land that will not be appeased until all are in subjection to it.'

  'Well, that is a worry for another day. Tonight, I am with my friends and the wine is good.' He lifted his cup. 'To our enemies' enemies! And to your safe return!'

  It was Arthur's welcome alone, I believe, which turned the tide of misery for Merlin.

  For I saw my master behold the young Duke in all his youthful zeal, the light of life burning so brightly in him, that he determined for Arthur's sake to put the gloom and depression that had dogged our journey behind him. I saw the line of Merlin's shoulders lift; I saw his chin rise. And though the smile with which he returned Arthur's welcome was forced, it was a smile nonetheless, and the greeting with it true.

  Thus, soon after our arrival at Caer Melyn the pall which hung over Merlin's spirit began to lift. This was Arthur's doing, as I have said. For even then he was* beginning to display that rarest of qualities: a joy inspired by hardship, deepened by adversity, and exalted by tragedy.

  Arthur could find the golden beam of hope in defeat, the single glimmer of blue in the storm-fretted sky. It was this that made him such a winning leader – the kind of man for whom other men gladly lay down their lives. Arthur's enthusiasm and assurance were the flint and steel to the dry tinder of men's hearts. Once he learned to strike the spark, he could set the flame any time he chose. And that was a sight to see, I tell you.

  That night, as we stood together before the hearth, my master found reason to hope against all evidence to the contrary. He began, I think, to sense the shape of our salvation: it was larger, grander, higher, purer and far more potent than he had ever imagined.

  'Of course,' he would say later, 'it had to be like this. There was no other way!'

  That would come in time. All in good time. And not for a long, long time. But it would come.

  That night of homecoming, however, it was only young Arthur lifting our hearts with his boundless joy at our return. Oh, how he loved Merlin!

  'Tell me about your journey,' Arthur said, as the board was being readied for supper. 'Did Ban receive you? Will he help? Is he sending aid? When will it – '

  'Arthur, please!' cried Merlin, holding up his hand to stay the flood of Arthur's curiosity. 'One question at a time.'

  'Answer any one you like, only tell me something!'

  'I will tell you everything,' Merlin promised. 'Only let us sit down and discuss it in a civilized manner. We have ridden far today and I am hungry.' We took our places at the board to await the stew.

  'There,' said Arthur when we had our cups in hand. 'Now sing, bard. I am waiting.'

  'Yes, Ban received us. Yes, he is sending aid. Supplies will arrive as soon as the harvest is gathered – '

  'Well done!' Arthur slapped the board, making our cups jump. 'Well done, Myrddin! I knew you would succeed.'

  ' – men will arrive in the spring with Bors.' To Arthur's look of amazement, he added. 'Yes, in addition to supplies, Ban is sending his warband and his brother Bors to lead them. They are yours to command.'

  'Better and better!' cried Arthur, leaping up. 'Cai! Bedwyr!' he called across the hall as the door opened to a group of men just entering. 'Come here!'

  Shaking rain from their cloaks, the two came to stand at the board, dripping water over us. 'Greetings, Myrddin… Pelleas,' said Bedwyr. 'What news do you bring us?'

  'Is Ban with us?' asked Cai. Apparently, the king of Benowyc's disposition was much on everyone's mind.

  'Men and supplies!' Arthur fairly shouted. 'Bors is bringing his warband.'

  'Horses, too?' asked Bedwyr.

  'A hundred warriors, and horses for all. Supplies enough for them and us, too. That is the bargain.'

  Bedwyr and Cai grinned at one another, and at Arthur. Bedwyr clapped Merlin on the back, saying, 'Truly, you are a wonder worker, Myrddin!'

  'Cups!' called Cai. 'Bring us something to drink! We must celebrate our good fortune.'

  They are not coming until the spring,' Merlin told him.

  'We will celebrate then, too,' laughed Bedwyr. 'You would not deny us the first good news we have heard since you left.'

  'Why? What has happened while we were away?'

  Bedwyr glanced at Arthur, who said, 'We have heard that Morcant has made an alliance with Coledac and Idris against me.'

  'Owen Vinddu has pledged men and horses to them,' muttered Cai. 'This, when he told us he could not spare an oat or he would starve this winter. Curse the lot of them!'

  'By summer they hope to field a war host a thousand strong against us,' added Bedwyr. 'More if they can get other lords to throw in with them.'

  The hurt in their voices was real enough, the sense of betrayal strong. Merlin nodded in sympathy. 'Well,' he offered, 'it may not come to that. One of them, at least, will be in no position to make war against you in the spring.'

  'Why? What do you know?' asked Arthur.

  'Coledac is dead,' Merlin said, 'and most of his warband with him.'

  'Ha!' barked Cai mirthlessly. 'Treachery repaid.'

  'What happened?' asked Bedwyr.

  'Sea Wolves have taken the Saecsen Shore.' Merlin let the significance of this news grow in them.

  Arthur was first to speak. 'How bad was it?'

  'The strongholds seized and the settlements burned – the small holdings as well. Coledac was killed in the first onslaught and the warband routed. No one escaped. After that there was no defence.'

  Arthur, eyes narrowed, weighing the danger in his mind, gripped the brass cup between his hands, bending the metal. 'How far inland have they come?'

  'It is not certain,' Merlin replied. 'From what we were told, the maui attack appears to have taken place further south.'

  Thus was it a sombre group that assembled to celebrate our return. The next days, the dire news was repeated once and again, as straggling groups of homeless came to the caer seeking shelter on their way to the west.

  Gradually, from many confused and conflicting stories, the truth emerged: Saecsens under a war leader named Aelle had overrun several of the old fortresses on the south-east coast between the Wash and the Thamesis. The main attack, however, was concentrated a little further south between the Thamesis and the Afon, the old lands of the Cantii. This assault was led by a king named Colgrim, with the aid of another – Octa, the son of Hengist now grown, and returned to avenge his father's death.

  This south-eastern region is the Saecsen Shore, so called by the Romans for the linked system of beacons and outposts erected along the coast to protect against raiding Sea Wolves.

  It was along this same stretch of southern coast that Vortigern settled Hengist and Horsa and their tribes, in the vain hope of ending the incessant raiding that was slowly bleeding Britain dry. And it was from this coast that the barbarians spilled out to flood the surrounding land, until Aurelius contained, defeated and banished them.

  Now they were back, taking once more the land Hengist had overrun. The Saecsen Shore – its name would remain, but henceforth for a different reason. These invaders meant to stay.

  We worried at this through the long winter. The thought of Saecsens seizing British lands burned in Arthur like a banked fire, but there was nothing to be done save endure the ignominy of it. Indeed, we had no other choice. We had to await Bors' arrival in the spring
with the needed men. And then, Morcant must be brought to heel before we could even consider facing the Saecsens.

  In all, it was a sorry winter for us. Despite Ban's generous gift of provisions, food began running low just before midwinter. We had grain enough, thanks to Ban, but no meat. The eve of the Christ Mass found us riding the hunting runs, clutching our spears in stiff, frozen hands, hoping to sight a deer, or pig, or hare – anything that would put meat on the board.

  Merlin sang often in the hall, doing what he could to keep our spirits up. But spring found our courage at lowest ebb nonetheless, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Bors with Ban's men. With each day that passed, Arthur's resentment of the small kings hardened and his anger against them grew.

  Spring saw no improvement. The weather stayed cold, the sky grey. Day upon day, icy rain whipped the southern hills. The wild wind howled through long chill nights; and it seemed the earth would never warm beneath the sun, nor know any milder clime again.

  Then, one day, the weather broke. The clouds parted and the sun shone brightly in the high, blue sky. Light returned to the land. And with it came the news that we had feared all winter.

  The messenger's feet had hardly touched the ground when the cry went up: Morcant rides against us!

  'Where?' asked Arthur.

  The messenger wiped sweat from his forehead. 'They are coming along the coast. They will have crossed the Ebbw by now.'

  Arthur nodded sharply. The Ebbw river formed the eastern border of Arthur's realm. By riding along the Mor Hafren coast a force could move much faster than one having to thread the winding glens. It was speed Morcant wanted.

  'How many?'

  'Three hundred.'

  'What!' Cai demanded. He had hastened to Arthur's side at the arrival of the rider. 'How did the old lion raise so many?'

  'There is time yet before we meet them.' With the coming of spring, Arthur had ordered the ring of smaller hill forts to be manned with watchers – especially those along the coast, where he hoped for word of Ban's ships arriving any day. It was the watchman at Penygaer who saw Morcant's forces crossing the Ebbw estuary along the coast.