by Jack Whyte
Bitterly disappointed by her disappearance—she had vanished beyond the rim of the cliff so quickly that I knew I had no hope of catching her—yet filled with a glorious elation, I sat there beneath the stony face of that cliff and thought on her: the clear-etched muscles of her long, lithe legs below the shortened, tucked-in skirts of her white tunic, and the shape of her body as she had paused at several points in her ascent, her weight distributed perfectly, her eyes scanning the rock above her for her next handhold, had brought an ache to my throat. What kind of girl was this? I asked myself. How and where had she learned to perform such feats? Where had she come from? And where might she disappear to, once she had fully recovered from her injuries? One thing was frighteningly clear to me. Her body had fully recovered already, and today I had seen little evidence of any other damage, either to mind or spirit.
I made my way eventually to the hidden valley, my thoughts and my heartbeat still in turmoil, and found it strangely difficult to approach the small stone hut. She was there, as was Daffyd. When I entered, she looked up at me and nodded, then continued what she had been doing, scraping and curing what I took to be a rabbit skin. She had discarded the white tunic and now wore the simple homespun shift that was her normal dress. Daffyd mumbled at me, and then he, too, continued working on whatever had demanded his full attention that afternoon.
I felt uncomfortable there, even though the concentration shown by both of them left me free to stare at Cassandra as much as I might wish. Her hair, unbound, fell down before her face, obscuring all but the line of her cheekbone on one side. The fullness of a soft breast was a mere suggestion to interfere with my breathing. The line of her thigh beneath her shift was as clean and pure as the arc of a rainbow. I felt guilty and miserable, although to this day I have no idea why that should be so, and soon I took my leave and rode home in a mood that was half misery and half unbearable excitement. I knew she had recovered. I knew that I loved her. And I knew I had no way of telling her, of wooing her, or of keeping her beside me.
Heading back to my quarters one morning, however, on the way from a dawn parade, I was shocked to see Daffyd coming towards me. I gazed at him, wondering what he was doing here in Camulod, so far away from his ward.
"Daffyd," I said, hearing the incredulity in my voice. "What are you doing here? Where's Cassandra?"
"At home, boyo! In the valley."
"Alone? What are you thinking of?"
"I'm thinking of the work I have to do, and the tasks I have been neglecting."
"What? What d'you mean?"
He winked at me and shook his head in reproof. "Merlyn, I said I'd stay with the girl as long as she needed me. She doesn't need me now and there are others, I hope, who do. Mod and Tumac, for a start. Their education has been sadly neglected these past weeks. They'll be wild as the heather by the time I see them again. Probably have to beat them, I will, to get them back into harness."
I was still gaping at him, aware of the movement of people around me and the clatter of hobnailed sandalled boots on the cobbles as the men dispersed from the parade. The sky was cloudless; the day would be hot. A blackbird was singing somewhere close by, and I was almost whispering in my urgency to chastise Daffyd without anyone hearing what I was saying. "But you left her all alone out there?"
He looked at me as though I had lost my wits, and made no attempt to lower his voice, "Out where, boy? She's not 'out' anywhere. She's safe and snug in a stone hut with a fireplace and a strong roof in a valley that's as secret as this place isn't."
Almost panicked by the loudness of his voice, I grasped him by the arm and pulled him aside, to where we could stand in an angle of the walls of a building without being jostled or overheard. "For the love of Jesus, Daffyd, keep your voice down. Remember the girl's life is at stake!"
He freed his arm from my grasp and adjusted the folds of his long cape, glancing casually at the passers-by as he chastised me for my unthinking use of my aunt's prayer which had, on my lips, become an oath. "For the love of Jesus, is it?" he murmured, out of the corner of his mouth, "I am a Druid, boyo. What would I know about the love of your Jesus? But the girl is safe hidden. Nobody is going to bother her there, except perhaps you." He cleared his throat and continued, "She's a strong girl, your Cassandra, and healthy as a horse now, too. No need to look after that one. Not any more." His expression changed and he smiled at me, stepping close to grip my shoulder with his free hand. "She's happy there in your valley, Merlyn. Perhaps happier than she's been in a long time. Who knows? She has food and a clear pool for fish and for water and she can snare rabbits better than I can. She's happy there. No threats, you see.
"She'll be waiting for you to go and see her. Now the rest is up to you. Remember, though, what she has been through. She trusts you now, but who knows what she thinks of men in her mind? You know what I mean? If you can treat her gently, kindly, you might make a fine, full woman out of her, but run at her like one of your great, rutting stallions, and I won't be responsible for what you'll do to her, or she to you. Remember that, Merlyn. There is a young woman who has been hurt in ways that you and I can't even begin to imagine, let alone understand. Do you hear me?"
"Aye, Daffyd, I hear you. I know what you mean. Are you sure she has enough food?"
"Food? That one? She'd charm honey out of the bees! She will be fine. Next time you pass that way, take her some flour and some salt. That's all she'll need. And don't worry about her. She has a home and it's the perfect place for her. Leave her to enjoy it for a while and then go and see her. But be careful, Merlyn. Don't hurt her, boy."
That hurt me. "Do you think I could?"
"I know you could, without intending any harm at all, so be careful with her. Now I have to go, and so, by the dress of you, do you."
"No, I'm done. I've been on parade. Now I have some free time before I have to meet with my father."
"Then go your way, boyo, and let me go on mine."
I thanked him again and watched him depart, then returned to my quarters, my mind full of one single truth: the woman who had become the centre of my existence was alone in my valley, unknown to anyone else in the world except Daffyd, Mod, Tumac and my father, and she was waiting there for me.
I had loved that tiny, secret valley all my life, and now it had become the home of my love and nothing could have been more appropriate. During the course of that morning, the people I dealt with must have wondered if I was ill, for I was oblivious of where I was and what I was doing. My valley and its precious secret stole the whole of my concentration. It never left my mind for a moment, and a whimsy that I had been toying with for more than a week became a reality. It was my valley, my secret, sacred place, with its silent, sliding waterfall and its deep pool, its moss-covered cliffs, rich grass and stately, screening trees, nestled in the central bowl of the hill there, and I felt that it should have a name that reflected its peaceful solitude and its mystical seclusion. I named it Avalon, after the fabulous place of legend.
That same day, shortly after noon, filled with an almost painful anticipation that left me unable to bear the tedium of my daily duties any longer, I delegated the last of my tasks to a subordinate and left Camulod, riding far south before doubling back and around, away from curious eyes, to the valley and Cassandra.
My intestines seemed to have tied themselves in knots as I approached the entrance to the valley and began to descend between the high banks of bushes that lined the path all the way to the bottom. I had spent the entire journey trying to visualize the expression that would come into her eyes when she saw me. Would they show pleasure or anger—or indifference, Which would be even worse? The doubts that assailed me left me feeling sick. In vain I tried to reassure myself that I was merely being foolish, acting like a callow, lovesick boy. But reason had no place among my hopes and fears. At times I would imagine her face lighting up with pleasure at my approach, and then I felt light-headed and elated, but for the most part, I saw her face within my mind registering an end
less range of frowns, bleak looks and glances of displeasure and resentment.
All of my agonizing was as nothing, however, beside the despair that swept over me when I reached the valley bottom, because the vale lay empty and abandoned-looking. No smoke rose from the fireplace to spread out above the water, and the entire scene had that air of emptiness that bespeaks an utter lack of human presence. Stunned with disbelief, I felt a massive emptiness within me that resonated with bereavement. My horse, sensing no guidance from my slackened muscles, moved forward slowly towards the tiny building and came to a halt some paces from the door, where he stooped his head and began to crop while I sat gazing hopelessly at the mossy red roof tiles of the hut. The sound of tearing grass was loud in my ears, amplified by the silence that lay heavily around me.
Stiff-legged, I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and dismounted, resting my full weight against my horse's shoulder before straightening up and moving to the door of the hut. It swung open slowly at my touch and I stepped into the dimly lit, shadow-filled interior, so sure of finding it barren that I almost missed seeing the cloth that lay upon the small table, tented and mounded by the shapes it covered. A half-pace took me within reach of the table and I leaned across it to remove the cloth, uncovering a wooden platter, a small, sharp knife, an earthen cup, a squat, covered jug of wine, a partial loaf of bread and a crescent of dried sausage. Uncomprehending, I asked myself why, having prepared a meal, she would have left the valley without eating it. It took some time for the realization to filter through my confusion that she had not run off, and that this meal was awaiting her return. Instantly my despair turned to elation, so that I startled my poor horse as I burst through the door of the hut again, throwing it back on its hinges with a crash. She was here, somewhere! Giddy with relief, I reeled around like a drunkard, looking upward to the summit of the hills that hemmed me in, as though I could divine her presence from the air that separated us.
Behind me, I heard a fish jump in the lake, a heavy, clean, plopping sound, and I spun to watch the ripples spreading outward from the spot where it had breached. Then as I watched, another splash occurred mere paces from the first, although this time my gaze was close enough to see that nothing had preceded the sudden, singular sound of the splash—no swirl in the water, no flash of colour, nothing but that solitary, unheralded, plummeting impact upon the water. Alert now, I watched and waited, although for what I could not have said. And then I caught a blur of movement and my eye adjusted to it in time to see the water split again, sundered by a falling stone! Someone was hurling pebbles high into the air from the deep brush on the other side of the water. Keen-eyed now, I watched carefully and saw a movement, and another stone arced high into the air and seemed to hover against the sky before beginning its fall.
I was running along the edge of the water before the stone hit the surface, uncaring that I wore breastplate and greaves. She was there, across the lake, and she was making sport of me. As I rounded the far end of the lake, just before I plunged into the dense greenery of the trees and bushes, I caught another glimpse of movement high on the hillside above me and heard what I took to be a whoop of delight and excitement. Grimly, yet wanting to sing aloud in exultation, I charged onward and up, knowing that she would hear the noise and speed of my approach, and then suddenly becoming crushingly aware that she would not. In mere moments, it seemed, I was close to the top of the steep bank, pulling myself at every step by the stems of the saplings that grew thick among the larger trees, aspen and birch. I stopped and listened carefully, but heard nothing. The silence was profound. I began to move forward more cautiously now, feeling the need to be more circumspect. A pheasant exploded almost from beneath my feet, startling me so that I slipped, lost my balance and sat down heavily, rolling legs over shoulders backward until I came to rest against the bole of a birch tree. This time I distinctly heard a feminine giggle from somewhere above and ahead of me.
Again I gave chase, but that was the last I saw or heard of my quarry, save for the impact of one hard-shot, well- aimed stone that clanged against the back of my armour, pulling me back from the edge of the hilltop surrounding the valley and directing me towards the dense bushes on the hillside at my back. An hour later, frustrated and angry, I gave up the search and made my way back to the hut. My horse was still grazing by the door, but his saddle and blanket had been removed, and now a thin haze of smoke drifted upward from the chimney hole in the roof. Mastering my offended pride and dignity, I drew a deep breath and slowly opened the door.
The hut was still empty. A small fire blazed in the brazier in the hearth. Cassandra had eaten. Now the platter, knife, cup and jug were arranged for my use on the side of the table closest to me, along with the remnants of the bread and sausage.
I ate slowly, smothering my resentment, resolved to wait her out in patience. But she did not come. Eventually, as the day began to turn to evening, I gave up and went outside to saddle my horse. A small posy of yellow flowers lay, bound in a sprig of grass, in the centre of my saddle's seat. I picked it up and sniffed at it, breathing deeply of its fragile, sweet aroma, then laid it aside as I resaddled my mount. I picked it up again before climbing into the saddle and then sat there for a short time, rubbing the silken petals against my upper lip. By the time I nudged my horse forward to make my way home, I felt at peace, satisfied on a number of points, though without proof of any of them: Cassandra was nearby, watching me; she was self-sufficient and it would be pointless to make any further attempt to find her; she would appear to me when she was ready to do so, irrespective of my desires; she was not unkindly disposed towards me; and she had no intention of leaving the valley. I whistled all the way home to Camulod.
Nothing I have to say will begin to do justice to the love, the joy or the private splendour of the short years that followed. In the earliest days, Cassandra became my life and all I wanted out of life, and I was hers "and all she seemed to need. Responsibility, however, is an inescapable burden of manhood and I had mine, which my conscience would not let me ignore. Although she and Avalon comprised my secret life and all my private world, there was also the world of Camulod, which I could not neglect. Cassandra knew each time when I must return and she never tried to detain me, but each time I had to leave her in our valley of Avalon, the parting grew more difficult for me.
I tried to take her with me only once. I mounted my horse and lifted her up in front of me and as I placed my arm around her waist to keep her safe, a vision of Uther holding her just so made me cringe. This was the day I had sworn to myself I would find out the truth, for Uther was at home in Camulod and I had come to Avalon to see this confrontation effected. She leaned back into my arms as my mount climbed the narrow, tree-lined path from the valley floor, and there she remained content until we were clear of the bushes and mounting the rim of the hollow that concealed her home. But when she saw the distant towers of Camulod on its hilltop, miles away across the valley, and realized that I was bound that way, she stiffened and grasped the reins, bringing my horse to a stop. Gently, she prised my arm from around her waist, and then slipped smoothly to the ground, where she stood gazing up at me. Surprised, and slightly put out, I gestured to her to climb up again, trying to indicate that this was important to me, but it took only one look into the calm, slightly stubborn resolve of her gaze to convince me of what I should have known. Cassandra had no wish to go to Camulod, or even to see it on a distant hill. My heart was filled with love for her, and shame for what our Camulod had come to mean to her.
I decided then and there that Uther's guilt or innocence was not important. It had happened in another lifetime. If I were to face her with him now, and he were guilty, I might be ripping the scab from a barely healing wound. If, on the other hand, he were not the one, I would only have put her in needless mind of what she had endured, and possibly even have placed her in danger once again from the true culprit. She had no need of any of this. I dismounted and left my horse to graze by the side of the path and I
held her close as we walked back down the winding, hidden path to Avalon, where she was content to be alone.
And yet, as we walked back down that sheltered path, another thought squirmed, guilty and fully formed, in my mind. If, as I had now come almost fully to believe, Uther was in fact innocent of any violence upon her, I had no wish to expose her to him, or him to her. When I had thought her ugly, she had been fascinated by my gallant cousin and I had been uncaring. Now that I was lost in her beauty, I could not bear the thought of seeing her look at Uther as she had before.
As was my invariable habit on leaving the valley, I turned my horse to leave by the back of the hill, keeping its bulk between me and die fort, making my way around to the south-east. This added another hour to a one-hour journey, but I was more determined now than ever that no eye should ever follow me to Avalon or mark me coming from it. On that particular day I had completed my detour and was approaching the last copse of trees between me and the open valley when I heard a noise that shocked me and made me kick my horse to a gallop within paces.
My father always knew where I was, whenever I was not in Camulod, and we had devised a signal by which he could summon me immediately, if the need arose. There were three high hills around the plain of Camulod. Both he and I knew that there was only one of them that interested me, but we had no wish to betray the fact that I could always be found close to the same spot, so the plan was that in emergency he would send riders to the tops of all three hills each one carrying one of the shrill screaming stones on a string that Vegetius Sulla had used to silence a noisy Council long before I was born, the singing or screaming stones the barbarians beyond the Rhine used as missiles.
