Avallach, regal and dark, his beard curled and oiled, welcomed Pelleas and me gladly, and made much over us. Charis, Lady of the Lake, fairly glowed with love for me; her green eyes shone and her long golden hair gleamed as she led me, arm in arm, among the apple trees she tended with such care. We strolled the deep-shaded groves, or rowed the boat on the glassy lake in the evenings and went to our sleep with the song of nightingales on the night air.
Still and all, I ate and slept ill. I fretted. Even fishing in the lake below the tor with the Fisher King, I could not rest. Nor could I unburden myself to my mother. Charis, whose sympathy knew no restraint, comforted me as best she could. But I would not be comforted. In truth, it was not succor I needed, but a vision. And that I lacked.
I ask you, O Soul of Wisdom, tell me if you can: what remedy for the lack of a vision?
Day by day, my spirit grew colder. I felt as if I were freezing from the inside, as if my heart were hardening within me. I felt my very soul growing numb and heavy like a dead limb. Charis saw it. How could I hide it from the one who knew me better than any other?
One night, I sat at the table with my plate untouched before me, and listened to Charis explain the work of the good brothers in the nearby abbey; there were, she told me, plans for a place of healing. “It is only fitting,” she said. “Taliesin saw the Summer Realm as a place where disease and infirmity were banished forever. And many come here seeking aid for their afflictions. The abbot has brought monks from Gaul and elsewhere—men who know much of healing and medicines.”
I was only half listening to her. “Of course.”
She stopped, put her hand on my arm. “Merlin, what is wrong?”
“It is nothing.” I sighed. I tried to smile, but found even that small effort too much. “I am sorry. The abbey? You were saying—”
“Only that the healing work continues to flourish hereabout,” she replied quickly. “But we are talking about you now. You are unhappy. I think it was a mistake for you to come here.”
“A sojourn in the Summer Kingdom is never a mistake,” I replied. “I am simply overtired. God knows, I have reason enough—what with riding on one errand after another all summer.”
She leaned forward and took my hand in hers. “It may be that you are needed elsewhere,” she continued, brushing aside my objection.
“I am not needed at all!” I shouted, and regretted it at once. “I am sorry, Mother. Forgive me.”
She pressed my hand more tightly. “Arthur needs you,” Charis said simply. “Go back to Celyddon. If all you say is true, that is where the future lies.”
“Unless the southern lords turn from their warring ways, there is no future,” I concluded gloomily. I paused, remembering Uther’s fiery temper. “We need another Pendragon.”
“Go, my Hawk,” she said. “Return when you have found him.”
I slept poorly that night, and woke before dawn, restless. “Ready the horses, Pelleas,” I told him curtly. “We will leave as soon as we have broken fast.”
“Are we going to Londinium?”
“No, we have finished here; the south must fend for itself. We are going home.”
7
IT IS A LONG WAY TO CAER EDYN, and a long time in which to contemplate the folly of self-important men. Despair embraced me to its bony breast; misery settled in my soul. The road took us east before turning north, passing close to the old Cantii lands of the coast. This south-eastern region is the Saecsen Shore, so called by the Romans for the linked system of beacons and outposts erected against the fierce seaborne invader. A tribe of Sea Wolves under a war leader named Aelle had taken over several of the abandoned fortresses on the south-east coast between the Wash and the Thamesis.
It was along this same stretch of southern coast that Vortigern settled Hengist and Horsa and their tribes in the vain hope of ending the incessant raiding that was slowly bleeding Britain dry. And it was from this coast that the barbarians spilled out to flood the surrounding land, until Aurelius contained and then defeated and banished them.
Now they were back, taking once more the land Hengist had overrun…the Saecsen Shore—its name would remain, but for a different reason. Unlike their fathers, these invaders meant to stay.
I thought of this and felt the sudden rush of the awen as it passed through me. I stopped and turned my horse to look back at the lands sloping away behind us. I saw the land fading as into a twilight haze, and it came into my mind that despite my best efforts, the night had already claimed the south. Now would begin a dark time; this I saw most clearly: despite ravenous Sea Wolves crowding his borders, Morcant would continue to press his idiotic war; Madoc, Bedegran and others would be forced to increase their warbands, and there would be much senseless bloodshed.
I had cried for a vision and now I had one. Oh, but it was bleak indeed. Great Light, have mercy on your servant!
Turning away from that grim prospect, I proceeded once more along the bramble-choked path, as if along the future’s tangled pathways. There was little hope in what I saw, little comfort to hold against the gathering gloom. The darkness must have its season, and the land must endure its travail. That is the way of it!
Putting the south to our backs at last, Pelleas and I pressed on our way through the long, wide valleys which gave way eventually to deep green glens and cold-running streams and wild, wind-mumbled heights. The world was growing colder, I thought and it was more than idle speculation, for we woke several times to snow in the night, though Samhain had not yet passed.
At length, we arrived at Ector’s Rock weary and disheartened, the futility of our long sojourn clinging to us like our own sodden cloaks. Ector, who had been riding the circuit of his lands with Cai and Arthur, found us a little way from Caer Edyn.
Arthur gave a loud whoop and raced to meet me. “Myrddin! Pelleas! You have returned.” He threw himself from his horse and ran to me. “I thought you would never come back. I am glad to see you. I missed you both.”
Before I could reply, Ectorius rode up, shouting, “Hail, Emrys! Hail, Pelleas! If you had sent word, we would have met you on the road. Welcome!”
“Hail, Ector! I give you good greeting,” I replied. My gaze fell upon young Arthur, standing at the head of my horse. He fairly danced in place, hopping first on one foot, then the other, as he held the reins of our horses. “I have missed you, lad,” I told him.
“Things are well in the south?” Ector asked.
“The south is lost,” I answered. “Folly reigns. All day long the petty kings give themselves to treachery and war. What they do not destroy, the Saecsen stand ready to steal.”
Ectorius, the smile still playing on his face, glanced from one to the other of us, as if struggling to believe. Indeed, the rain had ended, the sun shone brightly, and hopeless words held no force against it. He cocked an eye toward the dazzling sky. “Well”—Ector shrugged his shoulders lightly—“you have had a long and difficult journey, to be sure. Perhaps you will find yourselves in a different mind after you have washed the road from your throats. Come, there is ale aplenty for that purpose.”
He turned and called to Cai and Arthur. “What? Do you still linger here, young sluggards? Get you into your saddles and take the news home. Our friends have found their way back to us; we must celebrate their return. Tell the kitchens to prepare the best we have at hand. Ectorius demands a feast, tell them. Hie! Away!”
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 int
imately 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 toward 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, Mryddin, 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 practicing 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 armory, 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 favorite 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 war bands 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 half-heartedly.
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?”
“Pray, good Ector,” I intoned softly. “Pray God is for us. Pray for the strength of right and the valor 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.”
8
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.”
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