Merlin pc-2 Page 12

  'There is a golden realm of light, my son. And it is called the Kingdom of Summer.'

  We put on thick woollen cloaks and joined Maelwys for a ride into Maridunum where he passed among his people, visiting their houses, giving gifts of gold coins and silver denarii to the widows and those hard pressed by life. He gave, not as some lords give who expect to buy allegiance or secure future gain with a gift, but out of concern for their need and out of his own true nobility. And there was not one among them that did not bless him in the name of their god.

  'I was born Eiddon Vawr Vrylic,' he told me as we rode back. 'But your father gave me the name I wear now: Maelwys. It was the greatest gift he could have bestowed.'

  'I remember it well,' said my mother. 'We had just come to Maridunum…'

  'He sang as I have never heard man sing. If only I could describe it to you, Myrddin: to hear him was to open the heart to heaven, to free the spirit within to soar with eagles and run with the stag. Just to hear his voice in song was to satisfy all the nameless longings of the soul, to savour peace and taste joy too sweet for words.

  'I wish you could have heard him as I did. Ah, but when he finished that night, I went to him to give him a gold chain or some such and in return he gave me a name: "Arise Maelwys," he said. "I recognize you." I told him that was not my name and he replied, "Eiddon the Generous it is today, but one day all men will call you Maelwys, Most Noble." And so it is.'

  'Indeed, it is. He may have given you the name, but you have earned it in your own right,' I told him.

  'I wish you had known him,' Maelwys said. 'Had I the power, that is the one gift I would most like to give you.'

  We rode the rest of the way back to the villa in silence, not sorrowfully, but simply reflecting on the past and on the events that had led us to where we now stood. The short winter day faded quickly in a flare of grey-gold among empty black branches. As we entered the foreyard, some of Maelwys' men returned from hunting in the hills. They had been away since dawn and had a red stag slung between two of the horses. Gwendolau and Baram were with them, as I might have guessed they would be.

  I realized with a twinge of shame that I had neglected to introduce my friends. 'Maelwys, Charis,' I began as they came up, 'these men before you are responsible for returning me safely… '

  One glance at my mother's face and I stopped cold. 'Mother, what is it?'

  She stared as if transfixed, her body rigid, breath coming in rapid gasps.

  I touched her arm. 'Mother?'

  'Who are you?' Her voice sounded strained, unnatural.

  Gwendolau smiled reassuringly and began a small movement with his hand, but the gesture died in the air. 'Forgive me-'

  'Tell me who you are!' Charis demanded. The blood had drained from her face.

  Maelwys opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then looked to me for help.

  'We had to know for certain,' replied Gwendolau. 'Please, my lady, we meant no harm.'

  What did he mean?

  'Just tell me,' replied Charis, her tone low, almost menacing.

  'I am Gwendolau, son of Custennin, son of Meirchion, King of Skatha… '

  'Skatha,' she shook her head slowly, dazedly, 'how long since I have heard that name?'

  Skatha… from somewhere deep in my brain the memory surfaced: one of the Nine Kingdoms of Lost Atlantis. And I remembered other things Avallach had told me in his stories. At the time of the Great War, Meirchion had sided with Belyn and Avallach. Meirchion had helped Belyn steal the ships from Seithenin – the ships that had eventually landed the remnant of Atlantis on the rock-bound shores of the Island of the Mighty.

  How was it that I, who had grown up among the Fair Folk, failed to recognize them when I encountered them in Goddeu? Oh, I had sensed something – just hearing them speak had inspired a vague sensation of homecoming; I remembered the feeling, and at the same time, wondering why I had come there. I should have guessed.

  'We did not intend to deceive you, Princess Charis,' explained Gwendolau. 'But we had to be certain, you see. When my father heard that Avallach was alive, and that he was here – well, he wanted to be certain. It was important to see how things stood.'

  'Meirchion,' Charis whispered. 'I had no idea… we never heard.'

  'Nor did we,' Gwendolau said. 'We have been living in the forest these many years. We tend our own, keep to ourselves. My father was born here, as I was. I know no other life. When Myrddin came, we thought… ' he left the thought unspoken. 'But we had to make sure.'

  My mind staggered under the weight of understanding. If Meirchion had survived with some of his people, who else? How many others?

  Gwendolau continued, 'Sadly, my grandfather did not survive. He died not long after coming here. Many others died also, before him and after in those first years.'

  'It was the same with us,' offered Charis, softening.

  They fell silent then, simply gazing at each other, as if seeing in one another the ghosts of all those lost.

  'You must go to Avallach,' Charis said at length, 'this spring, as soon as the weather allows. He will want to see you. I will take you there.'

  'It would be an honour, lady,' replied Gwendolau courteously. 'And one my father would wish to repay in kind.'

  Maelwys, who had held his tongue all this time, finally spoke. 'You were welcome in my house before, but as you are of my wife's people you are doubly welcome now. Stay with us, friends, until we can all travel to Ynys Avallach together.'

  It is a strange thing to meet someone from one's homeland long after becoming resigned to never seeing home again. It is a singular experience, mingling both pleasure and pain in equal measure.

  Grooms came to take the horses and we dismounted and returned to the hall. As we walked up the long ramp to the villa's entrance, I saw how much Gwendolau and Baram looked like the people of Ynys Avallach and Llyonesse. They were of the very appearance of men from Avallach's court. I wondered how I could have been so blind, but reflected that perhaps I had not seen the similarity before because I was not meant to see it. Perhaps their true appearance had been hidden from me, or disguised in some subtle way. That was something I thought about for a long time.

  Another surprise awaited me in the hall. We trooped in to find the hall ablaze with light, shining with torches and rushlights by the hundred, and old Pendaran standing in the centre of the hall with candles in both hands, talking to a man in a long, dark cloak, while servants bustled to and fro on brisk errands.

  A gust of frosty air came in with us and the two turned to meet us.

  'Dafyd!'

  The priest made the sign of the cross and clasped his hands in thanksgiving and then held out his arms to me. 'Myrddin, oh, Myrddin, let Jesu be praised! You have come back… oh, let me look at you, lad… Bless me, but you have grown into a man, Myrddin. Thank the Good Lord, for your safe return.' He smiled broadly and pounded me on the back as if to reassure himself that the flesh before him was indeed solid.

  'I was just telling him,' said Lord Pendaran, 'just this very moment.'

  'I have returned, Dafyd, my friend.'

  'Look at you, lad. Jesu have mercy, but you are easy on the eyes. Your sojourn has done you no harm.' He turned my hand and rubbed the palm. 'Hard as the slate in the hills. And here you come wrapped in wolfskin. Myrddin, where have you been? What happened to you? When I heard you were missing, I felt as if my heart had been carved out. What is this Pendaran tells me about the Hill Folk?'

  'You deserve a full accounting,' I replied. 'I will tell you all.'

  'But it must wait for a time yet,' said Dafyd. 'I have a mass to prepare -'

  'And a feast after,' put in Pendaran, rubbing his hands with childish glee.

  'We will talk soon,' I promised.

  He gazed at me with shining eyes. 'It is happiness itself to see you, Myrddin. God is indeed good.'

  I do not believe I ever heard a more heartfelt mass spoken than Dafyd's Christ Mass that night. The love in the man, the grace and kindnes
s shone from him as from a hilltop beacon, and kindled in his congregation a knowledge of true worship. The hall with the holly and the ivy, and the glowing rushlights bright like stars, light glinting off every surface, warmth enfolding us, love upholding us, joy flowing from each one to every other.

  Upon reading from the sacred text, Dafyd lifted his face and spread his arms to us. 'Rejoice!' he called. 'Again I say rejoice! For the King of Heaven is king over us, and his name is Love.

  'Let me tell you of love: love is patient and long enduring; it is kind, never envying, never ambitious for itself, never putting on airs, or displaying itself haughtily; it boasts not.

  'Never vain, never arrogant, never puffed up with pride, love behaves in a seemly manner, never rude or unbecoming. Love seeks not its own reward, nor makes demands, but gives itself withal.

  'Love does not persevere to its own benefit; it is not fretful, or resentful. It takes no account of evil done to it, and pays no heed to the wrongs it suffers. Yet, it does not rejoice at injustice, but rejoices when right and truth prevail.

  'Love bears all things, hopes all things, believes the best in all things. Love never fails, and its strength never fades. Every gift of the Giving God will come to an end, but love will never end.

  'And so three things abide for ever: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.'

  So saying, he invited us to the Table of Christ to receive the cup and bread, which was Body and Blood to us. We sang a psalm and Dafyd offered a benediction, saying, 'My lords and ladies, it is written: Wherever two or more are gathered in his name, Jesu is there also. He is here among us tonight, friends. Do you feel his presence? Do you feel the love and joy he brings?'

  We did feel it; there was not a single soul in that glowing, glittering company gathered in the hall that did not feel the Holy One's presence. And because it was so, many who heard the mass believed in the Saviour God from that night.

  This, I thought to myself, is the foundation the Kingdom of Summer is built upon. This is the mortar that binds it together.

  The next day Dafyd took me to see his new chapel; we talked along the way, riding out on one of those brilliant winter days when the world gleams like a thing new-made. The sky was high and clean and bright, shining pale blue like fragile bird's eggs. Eagles wheeled through cloudless sweeps of heaven, and quail strutted through elder thickets. A black-tipped fox slipped across the trail with a pheasant in its mouth, stopping to give us a wary glance before disappearing into a copse of young birches.

  We talked as we rode, our breath puffing in great silver clouds in the cold air, and I told him about my life among the Prytani. Dafyd was fascinated, shaking his head slowly from time to time, trying to take it all in.

  In good time we arrived at the chapel, a square timber structure set on a raised foundation of stone on top of a wooded rise. The steep roof was thatched and the eaves reached almost to the ground. Behind the chapel a springfed well spilled over to form a small pool. Two deer at the pool bounded into the brake at our approach.

  'Here is my first chapel,' Dafyd declared proudly. 'The first of many. Ah, Myrddin, there is a rich harvest hereabouts; the people are eager to hear. Our Lord the Christ is claiming this land for his own, I know he is.'

  'So be it,' I said. 'May Light increase.'

  We dismounted and went inside. The interior had the new building smell: wood-shavings and straw, stone and mortar. It was bare of furniture, but there was a wooden altar with a slab of black slate for a top, and affixed to the wall above it, a cross carved from the wood of a walnut tree. A single beeswax candle stood upon the slate in a golden holder that surely came from Maelwys' house. Before the altar lay a thick woollen pad on which Dafyd knelt for his prayers. Light entered the room from narrow windows along the side walls, now covered with oiled skins for winter. It was similar to the shrine at Ynys Avallach, but larger, for Dafyd fully expected his small flock to increase, and had built to accommodate them.

  'It is a good place, Dafyd,' I told him.

  There are far grander chapels in the East,' he said. 'Some with pillars of ivory and roofs of gold, I hear.'

  'Perhaps,' I allowed. 'But do they also have priests who can fill a king's hall with words of peace and joy that win men's hearts?'

  He beamed happily. 'I do not envy the gold, Myrddin, never fear.' Spreading his arms and turning slowly about the room, he said, 'This is where we begin and it is a good beginning. I see a time when there is a chapel on every hill and a church in every town and city in'this land.'

  'Maelwys tells me you are building a monastery as well.'

  'Yes, a little distance from here – close enough to be a presence, but far enough away to be set apart. We will begin with six brothers; they are coming from Gaul in the spring. More hands will make the work lighter, true enough, but what is most important is the school. If we are to establish the Truth in this land, there must be a place of learning. There must be books and there must be teachers.'

  'A glorious dream, Dafyd,' I told him.

  'Not a dream, a vision. I can see it, Myrddin. It will be.'

  We talked a while longer and then he led me out to walk through the unbroken snow to the pool behind the chapel. I had some presentiment of what was about to happen, for I suddenly had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and a lightness in my head. I followed the priest to a little bower beside the pool with its thin skin of ice which the deer had broken to get at the water.

  In the bower, formed by three small hazel trees, stood an oaken stake with a cross-piece lashed into place with rawhide. I stood for a long moment looking down at the hump of earth beneath the snow. Finally, I found my voice. 'Hafgan?'

  Dafyd nodded. 'He died last winter. The foundation here had just been laid. He chose this spot himself.'

  I sank to my knees in the snow and stretched myself full-length upon the grave mound. The earth was cold, cold and hard; Hafgan's body lay deep in the frozen ground. Not for him entombment in cromlech and barrow, his bones would rest in ground sacred to a different God.

  The snow melted where my tears fell.

  Farewell, Hafgan, my friend, may it go well with you on your journey. Great Light, shower mercy upon this noble soul and robe him in your loving kindness. He served you well with what light he had.

  I got to my feet and brushed snow from my clothes. 'He never told me,' Dafyd remarked, 'but I gather something happened on your journey to Gwynedd, something unpleasant or distressing to him.'

  Yes, it would have distressed him. 'He had hoped to bring the Learned Brotherhood into the Truth, but they refused. As Archdruid, I suppose he saw their refusal as a defiance of his authority, as rebellion. There was a confrontation and he disbanded the Brotherhood.'

  'I thought it must have been something like that. When he returned, we had many long talks about -' Dafyd chuckled gently, ' – about the most obscure.points of theology. He wanted to know all about Divine Grace.'

  'Seeing that he is buried on holy ground, it would appear he found his answer.'

  'He said he wanted his burial here not because he thought his bones might rest better in hallowed earth, but that he wanted it to be a sign, an expression of his allegiance to Lord Jesu. I had thought he should be buried at Caer Cam with his people, but he was adamant. "Look you, brother priest," he said, "it is not the ground, not the soil – earth is earth and rock is rock. But if anyone comes looking for me, I want them to find me here." So, here he is.'

  It was very like Hafgan; I could hear him saying that. So, he had not died in Gwynedd as he had planned. Perhaps, after the confrontation with the druids, he had simply changed his mind. That would be like him as well. 'How did he die?'

  Dafyd spread his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. 'His death is a mystery to me – as to anyone else. He was hale and well one day – I saw him at Maelwys' house; we talked and drank together. The next day but one he was dead: in his sleep, they said. He sang for Maelwys after supper, and then remarked that he was
very tired and went to his room. They found him cold in his bed the next morning.'

  'He went out with a song,' I murmured.

  'Which reminds me!' replied Dafyd suddenly. 'He left something for you. In my joy at seeing you, I had nearly forgotten all about it. Come with me.'

  We returned to the rear of the chapel where Dafyd had a little room for when he stayed there. A rush pallet piled with fleeces and skins, a small table and simple stool beside a fireplace, and utensils for eating and cooking, were all Dafyd's possessions. In the corner beside the pallet stood an object wrapped in a cloth cover. I knew what it was.

  'Hafgan's harp,' Dafyd said, retrieving it and holding it out to me. 'He asked me to save it for your return.'

  I took the beloved instrument and reverently uncovered it. The wood gleamed in the dim light and the strings hummed faintly. Hafgan's harp… a treasure. How many times had I seen him play it? How many times had I played it myself in learning? It was almost the first thing I remember about him – the long, robed frame sitting beside the fire, hunched over the harp, spinning music into a night suddenly alive with magic. Or, I see him standing upright in a king's hall, strumming boldly as he sings of the deeds and desires, faults and fame, hopes and harrowings of the heroes of our people.

  'He knew I would come back?'

  'Oh, he never doubted it. "Give this to Myrddin when he returns," he told me. "He will need a harp, and I always meant him to have this one."'

  Thank you, Hafgan. If you could see where and when your harp has been used, you would be astonished.

  We rode back to the villa then, arriving in time to eat our midday meal. My mother and Gwendolau were deep in conversation, oblivious to the activity around them. Dafyd and I ate with Maelwys and Baram, who were sitting with two of Maelwys' chiefs from the northern part of his lands. 'Sit down with us,' Maelwys invited. 'There is news from Gwynedd.'

  One of the chieftains, a swarthy dark man named Tegwr, with short black hair and a heavy bronze tore around his neck, spoke up. 'I have kinsmen in the north who sent word that a king called Cunedda has been established in Diganhwy.'