merlins godson 1 & 2

by H. Warner Munn

  I shall not forget the surprise I had when, returning from a long campaign in the Land of Burned-Out Fires (a hideous, twisted country of ancient volcanic lands, cursed with eroded lava and almost devoid of comfort),

  I was met at the edge of our territory by a deputation of priests, bearing an effigy, easy to recognize.

  It was myself life-size, clothed in mimic harness, with lorica, shortsword and helmet all complete in featherwork, cleverly and beautifully done. I chuckled to myself when I was alone, to see how worship was being shyly tendered to me in person, a grizzled, scarred, leather-and-iron centurion of Rome. Was I to become a living god—I, who had brought into being so many imaginary ones?

  Gold Flower of Day (I dwelt with her family) brought me as offering, after the next morning meal, a handful of humming-birds’ feathers, highly prized among these simple folk, for they are rare in the rock valleys owing to a scarcity of flowering shrubs.

  Touched by this evidence of thoughtfulness and devotion, I looked upon her with new eyes, and to preserve her gift I tucked the quills under one of the metal strips on my lorica and for some days wore them there as I passed among the people. Often I caught sly glances upon my decoration, but thought nothing of it until one day Gold Flower of Day came and humbly begged me to permit that she sew on, with new thongs, some of the plates that had been partly torn away in the last campaign. Naturally, I gave my consent.

  Judge of my surprise to find, on its return, every tiny particle of that old battle-nicked lorica completely hidden by a gorgeous and shimmering shirt of feather-work, sewn upon a backing of soft doeskin, in the most fantastic and beautiful pattern, and entirely done in feathers of the humming-bird.

  All the villages subject to the twin cities had been raided by fast runners to produce feathers for that offering. It was my reward for making men out of those secluded cave-dwellers and it was a gift fit for a Caesar! Surely not even old Picus himself ever beheld such a garment! I walked resplendent among the people, and was very proud, but not nearly as proud as the devoted eyes of Gold Flower of Day told me that she felt, when

  I thanked her and taught her the meaning of a kiss, for I knew that the thought was hers.

  Then one day a deputation of the Elders waited upon me and with solemn ceremony in their pit-temple below the floor of their cavern home they christened me anew “Nuitziton” or Humming-bird, a name which slipped far more easily from their .tongue that it did from mine; but I grew accustomed to it after a while and came to favor my Aztec name, though never did I forget that I was a Roman.

  Inaction irked me, and I was plagued by the goad of ambitious dreams. We marched again, in search of new conquests, but before I left I slipped the gorgeous tunic over the head of that effigy of mine, making the other featherwork look tawdry in comparison, and I promised the priest, whose care it was, that the circle of conquest I had begun should be broadened until we had scured enough feathers of the Nuitziton to cover the effigy completely.

  That began the long-protracted War of the Humming-birds’ Feathers against the southerly, powerful, Toltec nation, which campaign lasted two long years, covered uncounted miles of territory and added thousands to my rule.

  At the end of the war, my power was more than Myrdhinn’s. The Aztec nation was drunk with the bloody wine of repeated success. They all but forgot the teachings of the one they had first revered as their savior, and whom in gratitude they had christened Quetzalcoatl. With never a single appeal to sorcery, I had become their one undisputed leader.

  Our people, by absorbing subject villages, had enormously outgrown their cliff homes and many dwelt below on the floor of the gorges, wherever could be found sweet water and tillable lands; for much of the water hereabout is oddly colored, and death to the drinker.

  At last came a day of celebration for the vast multitude which called itself Aztecan. It was the day upon which, in a temple erected for the occasion, I placed the last feather upon the head-band of the effigy, and saw that upon the entire figure there was no particle, however small, of the original substance that could be seen.

  From the assemblage rose such a shout that all the mighty cliffs roundabout echoed and re-echoed.

  Then advanced Myrdhinn himself, kindly enough, but awe-inspiring in his white robes of ceremony, crowned with his ritualistic headdress of the Quetzal bird.

  He placed his withered, wrinkled hands on my head in benediction, and said:

  “Ventidius Varro, soldier of Rome, shipmate, leader, hope of this budding Aztec nation, in accordance with the expressed desire of their chosen religious leaders here gathered I give you your new name before all the people. Forget the name of Ventidius and that of Nuitziton, and henceforth be known to all men as Huitzilopochtli—God of War!”

  He paused, smiled a little wryly, then:

  “Hail, living god!” said Myrdhinn to me (standing there, abashed, knowing him to be far the better man, and feeling myself a traitor worse than Judas, in the respect that I had stolen his power and authority), and bowed his hoary head in salutation. And all the people shouted!

  16 Myrdhinn’s Messenger

  Not as yet had I breathed to these people my hope of hurling the consolidated tribes against the might of Tlapallan, the hereditary oppressors of a vast country, so far as history goes among men who have no written language and preserve memories from one generation to another by painted pictures on skins or a paper made from reeds.

  Nor, since our coming, had any raiders attacked the cities of Aztlan, though occasionally our war-parties had met theirs, in the Debatable Lands, a country of hunger, devoid of water and nourishment, which formed our best barrier against Tlapallan’s power.

  Here, warriors fought to a finish, and sometimes survivors came to us with news of victory, and sometimes the news was borne to the Four Cities of the Mias, but neither side carried word of defeat.

  The defeated party enriched the bellies of the wolves and wild dogs, for on that side were no survivors.

  Tlapallan knew of our growing power. The Debatable Lands swarmed with their spies, who now and again came sneaking among us. Some went back and took with them the news that everywhere we were arming; took with them, too, our knowledge of the bow, so that had Tlapallan been ruled by a man with vision instead of the lecherous son of the former Kukulcan, who now held that title in his father’s place, the end might have been very different. But stubbornly clinging to tradition, he kept to the atlatl, and when the time came, we, far out of range, laid his soldiers down like rows of teocentli.

  After three years and a half of battling in the southwest, I now began to see my way clear to the fulfillment of that vow I had made in the filthy reeking enclosure upon the Egg.

  I could look about me from the tableland, far as eye could see, and all about stretched a land I might call mine. Mine by conquest! Southerly, near a broad shallow river, was allied to us by force the country of Tolteca, which I knew would march anywhere at my will, were I to point into the grinning mouths of Cerberus.

  At last, speeding toward me with every sunrise, every sunset, I could sense the coming of that day when upon the ramparts of Azatlan I could give the word, and

  Aztlan would march, in unison with Tolteca, upon the last great foray which would settle for all time whether Aztlan or Tlapallan should rule this continent.

  Yet I was not happy as I had expected to be. I brooded, life seemed miserable, I did not know what I lacked. Great aims had lost their fascination. Had I spent too much time in war? Had killing hardened my heart so that all else seemed worthless to me?

  I leaned one night upon the rampart, looking easterly, thinking of the countless miles of land and sea separating me from my British home, feeling weary of life.

  The light of noonday, by reflection, floods the walls of these ramparts, penetrating the deep recesses of the cave, but as the sun sinks, a dark shadow creeps across the cavern front and the ulterior is in gloom. A similar blackness had come over my spirit

  Toward what were m
y struggles tending? Could any part of my dreams come true? Could I seize a bit of these tremendous lands to call it permanently Roman, and carve out a haven for the stricken empire Myrdhinn ·pictured to me from his greater wisdom?—a haven for Rome to occupy and colonize and create from ruins of empire, a greater Rome that could never perish?

  I had dared to dream that I could mold the future; that I could create a far-flung kingdom, knit together by roads after the pattern of Rome, crowded along all their length by marching men, traders, priests, merchants, pilgrims, with fast runners threading the throng, bringing news, taking messages, and somewhere at the center—myself, a little Caesar who might grow huge enough to stretch a helping hand across the seas to succor my homelands in some hour of great need.

  Now that it seemed success was almost within my reach, ambition had died in me. What did I lack, when everything was mine?

  Lost in my dismal musings, I felt a timid touch upon my arm. I looked down. Beside me, eyes demurely downcast, as behooves a maid, stood my dainty Gold

  Flower of Day, and smiling upon her I knew beyond doubt why my life was empty and gray.

  I threw my robe around her shoulders and kissed her, long and sweetly, and lapped in the protection of my robe we went in to her family. Thus simply were we betrothed, and on a day of feasting and jubilation she became my bride.

  No luckier man than I ever trod the earth, I know, and none ever knew a lovelier lady. For lady she truly is in her own way, nor need give one inch of precedence to talented, cultured Roman matrons. She is a very real help and encouragement. I respect and honor my ruddy, warm-hearted Gold Flower of Day—barbarian!

  To her belongs the credit for the rest of my achievements. Power had turned to ashes in my mouth. She gave life new zest. I went on. She had faith in me that never failed, and I could not betray it.

  A long peace followed the subjugation of Tolteca, during which I made known my plans for the invasion of Tlapallan, which plans were polished and considered in many assemblies. Then it was drill, drill, drill, until the lowliest legionary understood the work he was to do as well as any veteran might. Instead of centuries, my fellow wanderers had come to command cohorts, sturdy and strong, armed with spear, bow and sword, protected by shields of stout wood and hide, their bodies covered by thickly padded cloth armor, a good substitute for metal when used only against atlatl darts.

  It was thus that they passed before Myrdhinn and me in review upon a day of joy and celebration, and Myrdhinn, gazing at the stern host marching by in perfect unison, every man’s accouterments exactly like his fellow’s, every stride in time with a booming snakeskin drum, every spear slanted alike down the whole line, said, “Your Eagle of Aztlan has whetted his beak until it is sharp.” And then, reflectively: “Have you decided what you will name the boy?”

  Just then, the signifer passed, holding on its pole the old and battered Eagle of the Sixth Legion, Victrix, and staring hard at this relic bobbing proudly above the strangely resurrected ghost of the old legion, I thought to myself that this new legion might yet know the glory of the old, and answered:

  “You yourself have named him. Gwalchmai, he shall be called—the Eagle. And may he have an eagle’s spirit!”

  So he had, for he crowed and smiled in the arms of his mother’s mother, to see the martial panoply of two legions marching by on the long road to Tlapallan. At last we were on the way, marching out under banners, leaving the old and the halt behind with the women, to care for the children who were too small for war.

  Everyone else followed the bronze Eagle of the Sixth—seven thousand Aztec fighting-men, and closely behind came almost as many from Tolteca.

  We won through the moorlands, in early springtime, very sweet and beautiful with flowers, and I led my little nation, for although it was meant to be a fighting unit, we were laden with packs of provisions, and many terge dogs (our only beasts of burden) were also laden with packs of dried meats and other foods.

  Also, most of the able-bodied women had refused to be separated from their men during a struggle for freedom which could end only in the total destruction of one or the other side, and had accordingly chosen to .come with us to live or die as need be. So the array looked much more like a migrant people than an army, and in it was my own Gold Flower of Day.

  The journey was far more difficult than our westward crossing had been, for now we were many mouths and the season was too early for the large herds of wild cattle. Such scattered game as we sighted had generally scented the strong odor of the coming man-herd and was in flight before we were near enough to shoot.

  Yet, by frequent halts, camping until hunting-parties could press on ahead and kill game, we managed to keep life in us. We were helped by those lonely moor wanderers who skulked in the high grass, in constant dread of Tlapallan’s slave-raiders. When they were convinced of our friendliness, they joined us with all their knowledge of hunting-grounds and hiding-places. Without their guidance, we might easily have failed to win through unperceived, as we did almost to Tlapallan’s borders, without the loss of a single soul.

  A week’s march from dangerous territory, in a pleasant place of small lakes and marshes, giving us hope of good hunting among the beasts and waterfowl, besides excellent fishing along shores quite unfrequented, we threw up an earthen fort, its ramparts crowned with an agger of stakes and thorns and circum-vallated by a dry ditch.

  We dug wolf-pits in every direction surrounding, all carefully covered, with sharp stakes at the bottom; and leaving me and my nation in safe seclusion, Myrdhinn with a fighting-force of twenty picked men, five Romans and a moorman guide set out on a long journey around the frontier of Tlapallan, in order to reach the Hode-nosaunee and find out how that folk were faring after our long absence.

  Now I was sole ruler indeed, and my first orders were for the construction of a firing-platform for a ballista at each corner of our four-square fort, and these were built and placed in position.

  Admittedly they were crude, being built entirely without metal, the absence of clamps being rectified by many wrappings of green hide, well shrunken into place. I had little hope of any efficient marksmanship with any such rickety engines, but I did count heavily upon their astonishing effect upon an enemy, for they were a novelty in the warfare waged in Alata. I surmised that before the ballistas were racked to bits the enemy would have fled.

  My crews of engineers became proficient in their duties and we combed the country for suitable stones without sight of enemy scouts, finding the days very dull, for three long months. Our occupations were exercising, hunting and drilling, for every day we ex-pected to be discovered and besieged, and here were many mouths to feed and undisciplined tempers worn raw by constant association inside strait walls.

  However, we remained concealed, thanks to broad and nearly impassable forests which separated us from Tlapallan, though our position was especially happy, in that none of their highways (the large rivers) ran very near to us.

  While we regained strength, great events were taking place in the North. Myrdhinn and his tiny force skirted safely the farthest outposts, again crossed the Inland Sea, and came to the log towns of the Hodenosaunee, where he was warmly greeted by that stern but honorable people, who never forgot a friend or forgave an enemy.

  Once more they met our Roman companions, now true sons of the forest, skin-clad, painted in the manner of their nations, most of them fathers of little Hodenosaunee, but still Roman enough at heart.

  While we adventured, our friends had not been idle in preparations. Myrdhinn found the copper mines still £eld by the forest men, and learned that the twenty forts which protected the Miner’s Road had never been retaken. A great store of copper had been dug and hidden away and was available for use. The frontier had moved south!

  Myrdhinn’s first action was the setting up of smelters and forges, where, after bitter failures, a fair bronze was at last produced, though not of the quality to which the Sixth had been accustomed.

  Once
they had determined upon the proper mixture of the copper and tin, molds were made from the old clamps taken from the Prydwen, which had cost so many lives and so much toil to recover. Then other clamps were made, enough to outfit a great battery of ballistas and tormenta; and with the remaining tin, pilum-heads were made, with bronze points and shanks of soft copper, so that in use the shanks would bend and droop, weighing down whatever shield the lance-head might be fixed within.

  So departed the shining glory which had made the Prydwen a queen among ships, and her spirit entered the ruddy metal of Tlapallan to make it strong enough to bring new glory to Rome.

  The heat of early summer lay upon our fortified camp. We lay and panted and tried to sleep in our close quarters. At intervals came the challenges of the sentries, with the usual answer, “All is well.”

  Yet something in the dark of the moon came over the walls, avoided the sentries and came into my bedchamber. I saw the movement of it against the dimness of the door opening. I heard the scrape of its claws running at me over the hard earth. I first supposed it to be one of the dogs that frequented the camp; yet in size it was smaller than any of those. Then, thinking it to be a tree-cat from the forest, mad for food, I cast a short javelin which always was close to my hand in those days. I heard a savage yell, like nothing of earth; something struck me violently on the chest and the opening was darkened again as the creature spread broad wings and soared away.

  Then there was a clamor from the wall! One of the sentries, a tall moorman, came howling down. “Puk-wud-jee! Puk-wud-jee!” he cried, in great fear, and told how its round yellow eyes had shriveled his very soul as it had sailed above him while he’d walked his round.

  Questioning him, I learned that in the belief of his people, a Puk-wud-jee was a small woods-demon, sometimes friendly, but more often inimical to man. It was always upon the alert for an opportunity to steal a man-child from its cradle board, that the baby might be fed enchanted food to cause it to shrink in size and grow to become a denizen of the wood.