Legacy: Arthurian Saga (63 page)

"You've no sword."

"I lost it. No matter. I have my
dagger, and a hand for it. No, don't be afraid. The fighting's
done. No one will hurt you. Now, if you'll help me onto my horse,
I'll be on my way."

He gave me an arm as I got to my feet.
We were standing at the edge of a high green upland studded with
furze, with here and there stark, solitary trees thrust into
strange shapes by the steady salt wind. Beyond the thicket where I
had lain the ground fell away in a sharp slope scored by the tracks
of sheep and goats. It made one side of a narrow, winding valley,
at the foot of which a stream raced, tumbling, down its rocky bed.
I could not see what lay at the foot of the valley, but about a
mile away, beyond the horizon of winter grass, was the sea. From
the height of the land where I stood one could guess at the great
cliffs which fell away to the shore, and beyond the land's farthest
edge, small in the distance, I could see the jut of
towers.

The castle of Tintagel, stronghold of
the Dukes of Cornwall. The impregnable fortress rock, which could
only be taken by guile, or by treachery from within. Last night, I
had used both.

I felt a shiver run over my flesh.
Last night, in the wild dark of the storm, this had been a place of
gods and destiny, of power driving towards some distant end of
which I had been given, from time to time, a glimpse. And I,
Merlin, son of Ambrosius, whom men feared as prophet and visionary,
had been in that night's work no more than the god's
instrument.

It was for this that I had been given
the gift of Sight, and the power that men saw as magic. From this
remote and sea-locked fortress would come the King who alone could
clear Britain of her enemies, and give her time to find herself;
who alone, in the wake of Ambrosius, the last of the Romans, would
hold back the fresh tides of the Saxon Terror, and, for a breathing
space at least, keep Britain whole. This I had seen in the stars,
and heard in the wind: it was I, my gods had told me, who would
bring this to pass; this I had been born for. Now, if I could still
trust my gods, the promised child was begotten; but because of him
-- because of me -- four men had died. In that night lashed by
storm and brooded over by the dragonstar, death had seemed
commonplace, and gods waiting, visible, at every corner. But now,
in the still morning after the storm, what was there to see? A
young man with an injured hand, a King with his lust satisfied, and
a woman with her penance beginning. And for all of us, time to
remember the dead.

The boy brought my horse up to me. He
was watching me curiously, the wariness back in his
face.

"How long have you been here with your
goats?" I asked him.

"A sunrise and a sunrise."

"Did you see or hear anything last
night?"

Wariness became, suddenly, fear. His
eyelids dropped and he stared at the ground. His face was closed,
blank, stupid. "I have forgotten, lord."

I leaned against my horse's shoulder,
regarding him. Times without number I had met this stupidity, this
flat, expressionless mumble; it is the only armor available to the
poor. I said gently:

"Whatever happened last night, it is
something I want you to remember, not to forget. No one will harm
you. Tell me what you saw."

He looked at me for perhaps ten more
seconds of silence. I could not guess what he was thinking. What he
was seeing can hardly have been reassuring; a tall young man with a
smashed and bloody hand, cloakless, his clothes stained and torn,
his face (I have no doubt) grey with fatigue and pain and the
bitter dregs of last night's triumph. All the same the boy nodded
suddenly, and began to speak.

"Last night in the black dark I heard
horses go by me. Four, I think. But I saw no one. Then, in the
early dawn, two more following them, spurring hard. I thought they
were all making for the castle, but from where I was, up there by
the rocks, I never saw torches at the guardhouse on the cliff top,
or on the bridge going across to the main gate. They must have gone
down the valley there. After it was light I saw two horsemen coming
back that way, from the shore below the castle rock." He
hesitated.

"And then you, my lord."

I said slowly, holding him with my
eyes: "Listen now, and I will tell you who the horsemen were. Last
night, in the dark, King Uther Pendragon rode this way, with myself
and two others. He rode to Tintagel, but he did not go by the
gate-house and the bridge. He rode down the valley, to the shore,
and then climbed the secret path up the rock and entered the castle
by the postern gate. Why do you shake your head? Don't you believe
me?"

"Lord, everyone knows the King had
quarreled with the Duke. No one could get in, least of all the
King. Even if he did find the postern door, there's none would dare
open it to him."

"They opened last night. It was the
Duchess Ygraine herself who received the King into
Tintagel."

"But --"

"Wait," I said. "I will tell you how
it happened. The King had been changed by magic arts into a
likeness of the Duke, and his companions into likenesses of the
Duke's friends. The people who let them into the castle thought
they were admitting Duke Gorlois himself, with Brithael and
Jordan."

Under its dirt the boy's face was
pale. I knew that for him, as for most of the people of this wild
and haunted country, my talk of magic and enchantment would come as
easily as stories of the loves of kings and violence in high
places. He said, stammering: "The King -- the King was in the
castle last night with the Duchess?"

"Yes. And the child that will be born
will be the King's child."

A long pause. He licked his lips. "But
-- but -- when the Duke finds out..."

"He won't find out," I said. "He's
dead."

One filthy hand went to his mouth, the
fist rammed against his teeth. Above it his eyes, showing white,
went from my injured hand to the bloodstains on my clothing, then
to my empty scabbard. He looked as if he would have liked to run
away, but did not dare even do that. He said breathlessly: "You
killed him? You killed our Duke?"

"Indeed no. Neither I nor the King
wished him dead. He was killed in battle. Last night, not knowing
that the King had already ridden secretly for Tintagel, your Duke
sallied out from his fortress of Dimilioc to attack the King's
army, and was killed."

He hardly seemed to be listening. He
was stammering: "But the two I saw this morning...It was the Duke
himself, riding up from Tintagel. I saw him. Do you think I don't
know him? It was the Duke himself, with Jordan, his
man."

"No. It was the King with his servant
Ulfin. I told you the King took the Duke's likeness. The magic
deceived you, too."

He began to back away from me. "How do
you know these things? You -- you said you were with them. This
magic -- who are you?"

"I am Merlin, the King's nephew. They
call me Merlin the enchanter."

Still backing, he had come up against
a wall of furze. As he looked this way and that, trying which way
to run, I put out a hand.

"Don't be afraid. I'll not hurt you.
Here, take this. Come, take it, no sensible man should fear gold.
Call it a reward for catching my horse. Now, if you'll help me onto
his back, I'll be on my way."

He made a half movement forward, ready
to snatch and run, but then he checked, and his head went round,
quick as a wild thing's. I saw the goats had already stopped
grazing and were looking eastwards, ears pricked. Then I heard the
sound of horses.

I gathered my own beast's reins in my
good hand, then looked round for the boy to help me. But he was
already running, whacking the bushes to chase the goats in front of
him. I called to him and, as he glanced over his shoulder, flung
the gold. He snatched it up and then was gone, racing up the slope
with his goats scampering round him.

Pain struck at me again, grinding the
bones of my hand together. The cracked ribs stabbed and burned my
side. I felt the sweat start on my body, and round me the spring
day wavered and broke again in mist. The noise of approaching hoofs
seemed to hammer with the pain along my bones. I leaned against my
horse's saddle, and waited.

It was the King riding again for
Tintagel, this time for the main gate, and by daylight, with a
company of his men. They came at a fast canter along the grassy
track from Dimilioc, four abreast, riding at ease. Above Uther's
head the Dragon standard showed red on gold in the sunlight. The
King was himself again; the grey of his disguise had been washed
from his hair and beard, and the royal circlet glinted on his
helmet. His cloak of kingly scarlet was spread behind him over his
bay's glossy flanks. His face looked still, calm and set; a bleak
enough look, and weary, but with over all a kind of contentment. He
was riding to Tintagel, and Tintagel was his at last, with all that
lay within the walls. For him, it was an end.

I leaned against my horse's shoulder
and watched them come level with me.

It was impossible for Uther not to see
me, but he never glanced my way. I saw, from the troop behind him,
the curious glances as I was recognized. No man was there but must
have some inkling now of what had happened last night in Tintagel,
and of the part I had played in bringing the King to his heart's
desire. It was possible that the simpler souls among the King's
companions might have expected the King to be grateful; to reward
me; at the very least to recognize and acknowledge me. But I, who
had dealt all my life with kings, knew that where there is blame as
well as gratitude, blame must be allotted first, lest it should
cling to the King himself. King Uther could only see that, by what
he called the failure of my foreknowledge, the Duke of Cornwall had
died even while he, the King, was lying with the Duchess. He did
not see the Duke's death for what it was, the grim irony behind the
smiling mask that gods show when they want men to do their will.
Uther, who had small truck with gods, saw only that by waiting even
one day he might have had his way with honor and in the sight of
men. His anger with me was genuine enough, but even if it were not,
I knew that he must find someone to blame: what ever he felt about
the Duke's death -- and he could hardly fail to see it as a
miraculously open gate to his marriage with Ygraine -- he must in
public be seen to show remorse. And I was the public sacrifice to
that remorse.

One of the officers -- it was Caius
Valerius, who rode at the King's shoulder -- leaned forward and
said something, but Uther might never have heard. I saw Valerius
look doubtfully back at me, then with a half-shrug, and a
half-salute to me, he rode on. Unsurprised, I watched them
go.

The sound of hoofs dwindled sharply
down the track towards the sea. Above my head, between one wingbeat
and the next, the lark's song shut off, and he dropped from the
bright silence to his rest in the grass.

Not far from me a boulder jutted from
the turf. I led the horse that way and somehow, from the boulder's
top, scrambled into the saddle. I turned the beast's head east by
north for Dimilioc, where the King's army lay.

2

Gaps in memory can be merciful. I have
no recollection of reaching the camp, but when, hours later, I swam
up out of the mists of fatigue and pain I was within doors, and in
bed.

I awoke to dusk, and some faint and
swimming light that may have been firelight and candle flame; it
was a light hazed with color and drowned with shadows, threaded by
the scent of woodsmoke and, it seemed distantly, the trickle and
splash of water. But even this warm and gentle consciousness was
too much for my struggling senses, and soon I shut my eyes and let
myself drown again. I believe that for a while I thought I was back
in the edges of the Otherworld, where vision stirs and voices speak
out of the dark, and truth comes with the light and the fire. But
then the aching of my bruised muscles and the fierce pain in my
hand told me that the daylight world still held me, and the voices
that murmured across me in the dusk were as human as I.

"Well, that's that, for the moment.
The ribs are the worst of it, apart from the hand, and they'll mend
soon enough; they're only cracked."

I had a vague feeling that I knew the
voice. At any rate I knew what he was: the touch on the fresh
bandages was deft and firm, the touch of a professional. I tried to
open my eyes again, but the lids were leaden, gummed together and
sticky with sweat and dried blood. Warmth came over me in drowsy
waves, weighting my limbs. There was a sweet, heavy smell; they
must have given me poppy, I thought, or stunned me with smoke
before they dressed the hand. I gave up, and let myself drift back
from the shore. Over the dark water the voices echoed,
softly.

"Stop staring at him and bring the
bowl nearer. He's safe enough in this state, never fear." It was
the doctor again.

"Well, but one's heard such stories."
They were speaking Latin, but the accents were different. The
second voice was foreign; not Germanic, nor yet from anywhere on
the Middle Sea. I have always been quick at languages, and even as
a child spoke several dialects of Celtic, along with Saxon and a
working knowledge of Greek. But this accent I could not place.Asia
Minor, perhaps? Arabia?