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  Arthur was in the saddle and off before Lord Ectorius had finished speaking. And he was waiting at the gate when we arrived at the fortress, grinning, calling out our names. 'Myrddin! Pelleas! Here I am!'

  Just seeing the enthusiasm burning bright in the boy's face made me laugh – and I had not laughed in a very long time. In this way, Arthur, just being Arthur, cheered the Soul of Britain – a deed unsung yet no less worthy than any lauded by the bards.

  Yet the trouble I sensed was not in the imagining only. The oppression, the darkness, was real enough, and as cogent as I believed it to be. Did I not intimately know its source?

  That day of homecoming, it was only the boy Arthur lifting our hearts with his boundless joy at our return.

  'I was wrong to leave him, Pelleas,' I confessed. 'All our roaming accomplished nothing. Instead, I have no doubt made matters worse for my ill-conceived interference.' I paused, watching Arthur run towards us.

  'Myrddin! Pelleas! You were gone so long-almost a year! I missed you! Do you want to see me throw a spear?' He had spent the long summer hours perfecting his throwing arm, and was proud of his growing proficiency.

  I quickly dismounted. 'I have missed you, too, Arthur,' I said, pulling him to me.

  'It is Earth and Sky to see you! Oh, Myrddin, I am so happy you have returned!' He threw his arms around my waist.

  'And it is joy itself to see you, Arthur,' I whispered. 'I am sorry to have been gone so long. It could not be helped.'

  'You missed Lugnasadh,' Arthur said, pulling away. 'Still, you are just in time for the autumn hunt! I was afraid you would miss it. Lord Ector says Cai and I can ride this year. I want to ride with you, Myrddin, so you can watch me. Some of the northern lords are coming, and Lord Ector says that we can-'

  'Peace, Arthur! What of the Gathering?' I asked. Had we missed that, too?

  Arthur's fleeting frown gave the answer. 'There was no Gathering this year,' he replied. 'Because of some trouble somewhere, Custennin said the Gathering could not take place.'

  'Oh,' I said, nodding. 'That is too bad.'

  'But,' continued Arthur, brightening immediately, 'Ectorius says that next year we will have an even bigger Gathering – twice as big! That makes it almost worth the wait.' He turned and darted off. 'Come on, I will show you how well I throw a spear! I have been practising all summer!'

  He was gone in an instant.

  'Well?' I turned to Pelleas. 'It appears that we are to witness a throwing trial. Ectorius' good ale must wait a little, I think. This is more important. Send the lord our regrets; tell him a matter of some urgency has arisen, and that we will join him as soon as may be.'

  Pelleas hastened to do as I bade him, and returned to find Arthur and me on the field behind the boys' house. There we watched Arthur display his considerable ability as time after time he struck the mark – a feat made more remarkable by the fact that he threw the longer, warrior-sized shaft, and not the shorter practice length used by the boys.

  The dying day stretched our shadows long on the field and we stood together watching Arthur tirelessly throwing and retrieving his spear, his face ruddy with the flush of pride in his new-mastered skill. We cheered his successes and praised his prowess while the flame-struck sun sank lower behind us.

  A last 'Well done' and I gathered the boy beneath my arm. We started back to the hall where the feast was being prepared. 'You have a champion's touch.'

  'Do you think so? I can do better – I know I can.'

  'I believe you.' I stopped and placed both hands on Arthur's shoulders. 'I will make a king of you, Arthur.'

  The boy shrugged off the promise. 'So you say. I just want to fight Saecsens!'

  'Oh, you will fight the Saecsen, son,' I assured him. 'You will be a warrior-the greatest warrior the world has seen! And much else besides.'

  Arthur was happy with this prophecy. But then, he would have been just as pleased with a new spear or a sword of his own. He hurried off to return his spear to the armoury, and came back on the run a few moments later.

  I waited for him, and watched as he ran. 'Look at him, Pelleas. He knows nothing of the powers arrayed against us. And even if he knew, I think it would matter as little to him as the dust beneath his feet.'

  It is a strange and subtle thing, but I believe now that I had to fail – to understand that all my pains at peacemaking amounted to nothing – before I could recognize the reality standing bold as life before me. In order to welcome redemption, one must first embrace the utter hopelessness of failure. For how can a man look for rescue unless he knows he is truly lost? It was there before – it was there all along! – but I could not see it. I saw it now for what it was, and, oh, for all it would become. Yes! I remember the moment well. Truly, that golden afternoon with Arthur so happy beside me remains one of the most glorious of my memory. For in that brief time I beheld the shape of our salvation. Great Light, to think I might have missed it!

  Sadly, its glory proved short-lived. Bad news awaited us. Ector glanced up, frowning, as we entered his chamber. He was sitting in his favourite place-a chair made from the interlaced antlers of red deer and boar tusks. 'Here you are!' he snapped, and thrust a parchment roll into our faces as we came to stand before him. 'Read it out!' He spoke as if whatever was written there was all my doing.

  I took the roll and opened it, scanning the cramped script slowly before passing the parchment to Pelleas. He read quickly and handed it back to Ector.

  'That,' Ectorius growled, 'was waiting for me when I returned – from Lot. Saecsen warbands have been seen in the north. There are women and children with them.' Each word carried a weight of dread. 'They are settling. The Picti have welcomed them; Lot believes they have formed an alliance, and so it appears.'

  'Where is the man who brought the letter?' I asked.

  'Gone,' answered Ectorius. 'He and the men with him rested but a day before returning. We missed them by that much.' He held up his thumb and forefinger to show how narrowly.

  'Saecsens settling in the north,' I muttered darkly. 'So, it begins again. The turmoil we have feared is upon us.'

  Ectorius, hoping for some solace from me, now sought to soften the blow himself. 'Well, things might be worse. A few settlers. That is all. Surely, they can do no – ' he began halfheartedly.

  But I cut him off. 'It is not just a few settlers, as you well know!'

  Ectorius glowered; his jaw bulged dangerously but he held his tongue.

  'Think, man! As in the north, so in the south: the first of the mighty waves that henceforth shall wash over this island have broken on our shores, and with them the first of the great battlelords who will lay claim to Britain.'

  'You are mad to speak so!' Ectorius leaped from his chair. 'You do not know this.'

  'It is true, Ector. The Saecsen Shore has fallen. The barbarians even now establish strongholds in which to gather their warbands, and from these they will spread like plague to ravage the land.

  'And then,' I concluded grimly, 'when they have stolen enough to sustain them, they will seek to put all Britain beneath their heathen rule.'

  Ectorius, his worst fears confirmed, scowled at the parchment for a moment and then threw it to the floor.

  'You do not leave a man much for courage,' he said gruffly. 'Yet, it is no less than my own heart has been telling me. Though I had hoped Aurelius and Uther had taken the fight out of them.'

  'They did, but only a fool would think it could last forever. As it is, we have had some measure of peace these last years. Still, if we are very fortunate, they may content themselves with establishing their settlements for a time before the raiding commences.'

  'Let them begin when they will,' Lord Ectorius declared. 'By the God who made me, Emrys, I mean to hold my own. I will not be driven from my land.'

  'Bravely said,' I replied. 'But strength alone will not prevail this time.'

  'How then? What else can we do?'

  Tray, good Ector,' I intoned softly. 'Pray God is for us. Pray for
the strength of right and the valour of justice. For I tell you plainly: without these we will not hold Britain even a day longer than is granted.'

  Ectorius, grim-faced, shook his head slowly as the truth of these words found their mark within him. 'This is a bitter draught, Emrys. I do say it, and it cheers me not at all.'

  'Let this be your hope then, my friend. There is one under your care even now who carries within him all that will be required in the day of travail. One whose life was kindled in this worlds-realm for no other purpose.'

  Ectorius stared. 'He is but a boy.'

  'This very day I have seen the future, Ector,' I assured him. 'And it shone in the glad welcome on that boy's face.'

  EIGHT

  The next days were given to preparation for the autumn hunt. Horses were reshod, spears sharpened, dogs groomed. Everyone in the stronghold was busy. From early morning to far into the night Caer Edyn resounded with shouts, songs, and laughter. It was a celebration of sorts – though a most serious celebration with a starkly earnest purpose: we hunted for the smokehouse and the winter table. We needed the meat to see us through the cold days and nights ahead.

  Every detail was seen to with most exacting care, for a spoiled hunt made a lean winter. Above the Wall, a lean winter is a killing winter.

  The morning of the hunt, Arthur rose before daylight and made certain that Pelleas and I were awake, too. We washed and dressed, and hurried to the hall, where some of Ectorius' guests and men were already gathered, waiting for the food to be served. This morning we would break fast on hot pork stew, black barley bread, and beer, for we would be in the saddle all day.

  Arthur scarcely touched a bite. He kept leaping up from his place beside me on the bench, wanting to dash off to see to his horse, or his tack, or his spears.

  'Eat, lad,' Pelleas told him once and again. 'There will be nothing more for you until supper.'

  'I cannot eat, Pelleas,' Arthur complained. 'I must see to my horse.'

  'Your horse can wait. Now, eat what is before you."

  'Look! There is Cai! I must speak to him!' He was up and away before either of us could stop him.

  'Let him go, Pelleas,' I advised. 'You are trying to hold back the tide with a broom.'

  After eating, we assembled in the foreyard, where the horses were ready and waiting. The day had dawned grey and chill, the mist thick and damp – a raw foretaste of the long bleak winter ahead. The hound handlers – six men, each with four dogs straining to the leash – strove to calm their animals and keep them from getting tangled with the others. The yard stank of wet dog and horse. Everything boiled in a fine, convivial confusion, excitement heightened by keen anticipation.

  The horses stamped and snorted impatiently as the hunters lashed their spears into place. The younger boys darted here and there, teasing the dogs and setting them barking. And the women, who had come to see husbands and sweethearts away, challenged their menfolk with good-natured taunts to bring home the biggest boar or stag, or failing that, a hare for the pot.

  Pelleas and I were to ride with Ectorius, and we found him near the gate, conferring with his master huntsman – a bald crag of a man called Ruddlyn, who, it was said, could scent a stag before the stag could scent him-no mean feat, surely, for even I could smell him quite plainly. The huntsman wore a coarse leather tunic through which two great bare hairy arms were thrust; his legs were stout as stumps in tall, hair-covered boots. Ruddlyn and Ectorius were talking about the weather.

  'Na, na,' Ruddlyn was saying, 'this liath will clear before long. This be just a piddling; pay it no mind. The valley runs will be clearing by the time we reach them. The mist will not last, I tell ye.'

  'Then sound the horn, man,' Ectorius told him, making up his mind at once. 'It is a sin to keep the hounds back any longer.'

  'Aye,' agreed Ruddlyn, who lumbered off, unslinging the horn from around his neck.

  Our horses were before us, so up we mounted. Ectorius, grinning, his face wet from the misting rain, saluted the eager hunters. 'My friends! We are assured of a fine day. We have had a good summer, so the runs are full of game. The day is before you. I give you a good hunt.'

  Just then the master huntsman sounded his horn – a long, low, braying note that set the hounds bawling in reply. The gate swung open and we all surged out onto the track.

  Lord Ectorius' hunting runs lay hard by Caer Edyn to the northwest, for there the forest crowded close. Beginning in the glen of the Carun River, the runs followed the stream into the forest for a goodly way before dividing.

  On the right hand, the trails continued a slow easy ascent into the hills and bluffs above the Fiorthe and Muir Guidan to the east; the left-hand trails bent westward, rising sharply to meet a steep and treacherous rock ridge that marked the beginning of the harsh and lonely region known as Manau Gododdin.

  The deep-folded land was dense with oak and ash, the undergrowth thorny briar; the uplands and hilltops were gorse and heather clinging to bare stone: a rough land. But the hunting was unmatched.

  We rode to the glen, allowing the more eager parties to speed on ahead. At the entrance to the run the first pack was loosed, and the baying hounds dashed away, slavering, the scent already burning in their nostrils; the first group of hunters raced after them.

  'Let them fly! Let them fly,' shouted Ectorius. 'Myrddin, Pelleas! Stay close to Ruddlyn and he will find us a rare prize. You have my word on it.'

  We continued on, the glen ringing with the sound of hounds and hunters. Cai and Arthur passed us, whooping like the bhean sidhe as they plunged headlong through the Carun and gallopped into the forest.

  'I used to ride like that,' remarked Ectorius, shaking his head and laughing, 'but stare at an empty board once or twice and you soon learn to rein in your high spirits. Oh,' he chuckled again, 'but it was great fun.'

  Ruddlyn arrived just then, dismounted, and, taking the leashes of the five dogs he had with him – big, black, square-muzzled brutes all – he wrapped all five leather straps around his hand, saying, 'I have seen a fair-sized stag further on. It would be worth saving the hounds for him.'

  With that he was off, running with the dogs, his stout legs carrying him with surprising speed through the brush-choked trails. Curiously, the dogs did not yelp, but trotted stiffly, heads down, tails straight.

  Ectorius saw my wondering glance, and explained, 'He has them trained to silence. They never give voice until the animal is sighted. We get much closer that way.' He lashed his horse and started after the huntsman and his hounds.

  Pelleas followed and I came after, leaning close to our mounts' necks and shoulders to avoid low-hanging branches. The trail was dark and damp; mist seeped along the still air. Gradually, the sound of the other hunting parties receded, muffled and muted by the dense forest growth.

  Ruddlyn, moving with the quickness of his dogs, soon disappeared into the murk of the dim, tunnel-like trail ahead. We rode after him, slashing through the pungent bracken that clung to us as if to hold us back. In no time, our horses were streaming water from the withers down and our clothing was soaked through.

  The trail veered always to the left, and I soon understood that we were following one of the western runs into the craggy hills of Manau Gododdin. On we chased, the sound of our passing muted by the heavy, damp air.

  We caught Ruddlyn in a clearing where he had halted to wait for us. Hardly winded, he stood with his dogs around him, face to the low, leaden clouds above. 'It will clear,' he announced.

  'What have you found?' asked Ectorius. 'Is it the stag?'

  'Aye.'

  'Will we see it soon?'

  'Right soon, lord.'

  With that, he turned and strode away once more. The ground, I noticed, began to rise and in a little while the forest began to thin somewhat. We were beginning the climb to higher ground; the trail became more uneven.

  The pace was not fast, but I kept my eyes on the trail, alert to any obstacle there. In the chase, even small dangers – a jagged stone,
a fallen branch, a hole in the ground – can mean disaster if unheeded.

  I had been lulled by the running rhythm of Ruddlyn's ground-eating pace when I was jolted by the sudden sharp sounding of the hounds. I jerked my head up and, just ahead, saw Ruddlyn pointing into the brush, the dogs straining at the leather, snouts raised to heaven.

  I looked where he pointed and saw the reddish blur of a disappearing deer. An instant later, the dogs were loosed and flying to the chase, Ruddlyn with them.

  'Hie!' cried Ectorius. 'God bless us, we have a fight on our hands! Did you see him?'

  'A very lord of his kind,' shouted Pelleas, snapping the reins. His horse leaped after the dogs.

  I followed, exulting in the chase, the wet wind on my face, the spirited baying of the hounds in my ears. The forest thinned. Trees flashed by. The horse and I moved as one, leaping felled logs and rocks, surging through the brake.

  Once and again I glimpsed one or another ahead – now Pelleas, now Ectorius – as the forest sped by in a grey, mottled haze. The trail rose more steeply now. There were stones and turf-covered hillocks all around. We fairly flew over these, rising all the while.

  All at once we broke cover; the forest fell away behind us. Ahead rose the steep, many-shadowed slopes of the rock ridge. In the selfsame moment, the clouds shifted and, standing in the centre of a single shaft of shimmering light, head high, regarding us casually… a magnificent stag – enormous, perhaps the largest I have ever seen. A dozen or more points on his antlers, his mane thick and dark across heavy shoulders, his sides solid and his hindquarters well muscled – a true Forest Lord.

  Ectorius gave a shout. Pelleas hailed the creature with an exclamation of delight. The hounds, seeing their quarry near, howled with renewed vigour. Ruddlyn raised the horn to his lips and sounded a long rising note.

  The stag swung his head around, lifted his legs, and leaped away, floating up the slope as lightly as the shadow of a cloud. The hounds, ears flat to their heads, dashed after the wonderful beast, their master right behind.