Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

by Paula Brackston

  “Your business went well?”

  “My business can wait. I am all ears to hear of our new neighbor. So clever of you, wife, to sow the seeds of an alliance with such a useful person. I know I can rely on you to have all our best interests in the forefront of your every thought and deed.”

  “Naturally, my Lord.” Lady Rhiannon nodded slowly and risked a tight smile, but the tension in the room was evident to all.

  “Good. Very good. We will invite this man to our home. Next week is Lammas Day. We will prepare a superior feast and bid him come as our guest. What say you?”

  “An excellent idea, Husband.”

  “And you, Megan?” Lord Geraint turned to her. “You have met this marvel. What will he say to such an invitation?”

  “I’m sure he will be honored, my Lord.”

  “Just so.” He moved past Megan and took Lady Rhiannon’s hand, leading her toward the low window seat. “Come, my Lady, sit with me awhile as I recover from my journey. Entertain me with details of how you passed the time in my absence.”

  Megan, knowing herself to be dismissed, slipped away.

  4

  A WEEK LATER Megan awoke to the sounds of workmen and servants busying themselves outside the castle. She slipped from her small bed and went to the glassless window on the far side of the little room. Below preparations were being made for the Lammas Day revelries. As always, Megan was reminded of the first such occasion she could remember attending—the last she had enjoyed with her mother. She could not have been more than four years old, and it had seemed to her that the whole world, rather than just the village, had turned out to enjoy the feast and the games. She remembered how the noise of so many people had shocked her. And the colors! So different from the normal muted greys and blues of everyday life. Here were people in their best clothes, and jesters and minstrels and troubadours and local dignitaries and Lords and Ladies in their finery. Even now, so many years later, Megan felt some of that excitement stirring within her. Everyone would be in a good mood today. Work and troubles would be forgotten. This was a time to celebrate the first harvest of the corn, the safe gathering in of the hay, and the promise of a winter free from hunger because of a healthy crop and a good yield. Everyone would be expected to join in the feast, from the lowliest farm worker to Lord Geraint himself. Of course Megan’s father would be there, too, giving her another reason to feel happy about the day ahead. And Merlin. He had been invited expressly by Lord Geraint and Lady Rhiannon and was to sit at the head table with them. The idea of seeing him again caused a battle among Megan’s emotions which she did not fully understand. She was still annoyed by the way he had belittled and teased her. But she saw now that it was meant in jest. Which made her reaction too strong, making her feel silly. And, somehow, it mattered to her how she might look in front of Merlin. As she admitted this to herself she felt a new nervousness and could not decide if the sensation was good or bad.

  “Megan! Can we go outside? Please, let us go!” Huw burst in the through the heavy curtain that separated Megan’s chamber from that of the boys. His face was already flushed with excitement. Brychan followed close behind.

  “All in good time, Master Huw. You must first eat something, and we must dress you in your very best clothes.”

  “Must we? But I want to go apple bobbing, and Mama will complain if I get my best tabard wet. Can I not dress as I always do?”

  “With the whole village coming to look at you? I think not. But you can wear something old for now, if you plan to go out and get dirtier than a hound pup before the day has even begun. You can change later. Come now, you, too, Brychan. Food first.” She steered the boys back toward their room.

  “I’m going to help take the cartwheel to the top of the hill,” Brychan told her.

  “So am I!” Huw cried.

  “Are you now? Well, see that you don’t get under people’s feet. There is much to be done, and you will not help by getting in the way.”

  By mid-morning, all was ready, and people were beginning to arrive. Most came on foot; families with small children on their mother’s hip or riding high on their father’s shoulders; young maids giggling together in small, coy groups; young men, uncomfortably smart, watching the girls; the elder residents of the area, some riding on slow carts, nodding and smiling, having seen it all before so many times. Megan had fought to clothe the wriggling boys in the finery and now turned to getting herself ready. She unbraided her hair and let it hang loose while she pulled on her only smart gown. It was simple, made only from wool, but it was the color of crushed damsons, trimmed with a gold ribbon, and she loved it. The moment she put it on she felt just a little bit special. For once she was not a servant, but a maiden who knew herself to be pretty and was going to enjoy being so, at least for a few short hours. She twisted sections of her hair back from her face, allowing the rest of her russet waves to swing down her back. She finished the whole off with a neat headdress, which was small enough to show off most of her hair and matched her dress. She had no jewelry and briefly considered what it might be like to adorn her body with silver or beautiful stones. She smiled at her own silliness. She glanced toward the door, then stepped over to her bed and pulled a small pot from beneath the mattress. It had belonged to her mother and had a beautiful stopper that fitted snugly into the tapering neck. Megan removed the stopper and dabbed a few drops of the rose oil onto her throat. As her skin warmed, the concoction began to release its subtle, delicious scent. This was Megan’s one small luxury, which she had made for herself with roses from the castle garden. She knew it was not really her place to wear perfume, but it lifted her spirits to do so, and it suited the joyful mood of the day.

  Outside the sun continued to shine, though there was a humidity that had not been present the day before. There was no shade to be found on the sloping grass outside the castle, but most people wore caps or headdresses to fend off the strength of the midday sun. The castle servants had worked hard all morning with splendid results. Trestle tables had been put up in rows across the grass, with one longer table situated on a platform at the head of the others. Each was laid with tankards and trenchers freshly made from the first bread of the new grain. These hollowed-out bread plates were food for body and soul, a gift from the Lord of the castle, and a gift from the good Lord himself. The lower half of the loaf was for the villagers. Those on the top table would receive the upper crust. There was enough for every man, woman, and child in the locality, and they were provided with benches to sit on. At the top table there were cushions on the benches and two ornately carved chairs for the hosts. Stewards bustled about imploring everyone to be seated as his Lordship would be appearing at any moment. Megan hurried to her seat beside her father, who embraced her warmly. At last the excited crowd was persuaded to take their places on the low wooden seating, and all waited with eager anticipation.

  A fanfare of trumpets announced the procession, led by the musicians themselves and a handful of guards in their finest livery. There followed Lord Geraint with Lady Rhiannon on his arm, both looking regal and confident in their position. Brychan and Huw came next. Megan felt a small pang of pride at how smart and grown-up they looked. After them came Lord Geraint’s loyal knights and senior soldiers. Megan spotted Llewelyn among them and blushed at the memory of him in her mistress’s bed. She craned her neck for a better view, but as yet there was no sign of Merlin. Surely he would not risk offending Lord Geraint by staying away after a personal invitation? As those at the top table took their places she noticed even Lord Geraint glance about him as if searching the crowd for his guest. In a moment he would have to decide whether or not to delay the feast or continue in Merlin’s absence. Just as it seemed the issue would cause a cloud over the day there came the sound of hooves. All present turned to see the lone rider approaching. Megan was surprised to find herself so pleased to see him. She was not surprised, however, that he had seen fit to come without his tame wolf. There were many at the feast who would run screaming at
the sight of him, and many others who would kill the animal without a second’s hesitation. As Merlin slowed his mount to a halt a page ran forward to take the reins. Megan knew the horse to be one her father had been planning to take to market. It was a plain, unremarkable courser. A work horse. Hardly the mount she would have expected for someone so highly regarded. But then, Merlin had told her he needed only something hardy and simple.

  Lord Geraint rose to greet his special guest and beckon him to the seat beside him. He made a great show welcoming the magician, knowing his identity would be common knowledge by now. It would not hurt any cause or plan he had in mind for it to be known that Merlin was his ally. Lord Geraint raised his hand for silence and addressed the assembled company.

  “My friends, it is good to see you all here again, gathered to celebrate our first corn of the year. I bid you welcome. May you enjoy the day, and may the remainder of our harvest be as bountiful as the first. I give you Lammas Day! Gwyl Awst! Let the feast begin!”

  The cheer that followed all but drowned out the fanfare that announced the arrival of the food. An army of servants scurried out from the castle bearing a bewildering amount of food. They hurried to the tables, where they placed a generous selection of roast meats, stews, and pies. The villagers wasted no time helping themselves. For some it would be the only beef or fish they would see until the next feast day some months hence. There was roast hog, of course, braised mutton, and casserole of the tenderest beef. Platters of trout and salmon gleamed like treasure, dressed with mint and parsley sauces. Dishes of glossy prunes and dates shipped from an unknowable country sat amid roasted apples, delicate custards, and jewel-colored jellies. Another heartfelt cheer went up as the last of the servants arrived with huge pitchers of ale, sufficient to give every reveler a merry glow and rosy cheeks that would have little to do with the August sunshine.

  Megan felt her father nudge her arm.

  “Go on, girl, eat! We’ll put some meat on those bones of yours yet.”

  It was good to see him smiling and enjoying the company of others.

  Later, as she selected a piece of fish she stole a glance at Merlin. He was talking quietly to her master, who listened and then summoned a page. Megan watched the young boy trot away and was disconcerted to realize he was running straight to her.

  “My Lord asks that you join him at the high table, Megan,” he panted.

  She turned to her father, who shooed her away with an impatient hand. “Go child, have no concern for me. I am more than content to be here with this splendid fare. Hurry now. Don’t keep him waiting.”

  Megan followed the page back to Lord Geraint, uncomfortably aware that the eyes of the whole village were watching her progress. She straightened her back. Let them stare. What business was it of theirs?

  “Ah, Megan.” Lord Geraint wore one of his more diplomatic smiles. “Our guest has requested your company. It seems you made quite an impression. Come, be seated beside us.” He clapped his hands and a place was laid in an instant. The food on this table was even more sumptuous and wonderful. There was a swan, roasted and dressed again in its feathers. And bowls of nuts from distant islands that Megan had only ever heard about in tales of Knights and their travels. Here, too, were silver goblets and bone-handled knives. And here the drink was not ale but the blackest of red wines.

  The sound of Merlin’s soft voice close to her ear made Megan start.

  “I fear our first meeting left you thinking badly of me. I dearly wish to change that. I could not let the opportunity to speak with you pass. I am sorry if I have caused you any embarrassment.”

  “You are my Lord’s honored guest. Of course you must have what you request,” she said, focusing on the food in front of her. “Besides,” she added, “I do not so easily become embarrassed.”

  “No. I imagine that to be true.”

  Now she looked at him and felt her heart lurch at the directness of his gaze. Was that why they called him Magician? For those eyes could cast a spell all their own. She looked away and caught sight of Lady Rhiannon glaring at her. Her plans had clearly not included Megan, and her displeasure at Merlin’s interest in her was obvious. Megan sighed. Now she would have to face the disapproval of her mistress, however unfair.

  “So, sir, how should you be addressed?” Lord Geraint leaned across Megan the better to speak to his guest. “Magician? Seer? Some have even called you Prophet. What is the correct form of address for a person of so many talents?” He drank deeply as he waited for a response.

  “My name is Merlin. Add to it what you will—it matters not.” He spoke slowly, in the manner of one who knew he would be listened to.

  “Ha! Such admirable modesty! Come now, speak to me of what you do. There is mystery surrounding you. I am a soldier, plain and simple, a man of hearth and war, come late in life to be Lord of this region and father to these wretches.” He gestured toward the villagers. “Demonstrate, show us all, what wondrous things you can do.”

  “Forgive me, but the gifts I have been given are to be used for the greater good and are not tricks to be put on show.”

  “Laudable sentiments, my friend, but I would know more. Is it true you can foretell the future? Or that you can watch, unseen, the movements of a person in another place?”

  “It is true.”

  “Ah-ha! By God, I could put such abilities to use in battle! Imagine the fate of my enemies were I to know their every step. Why, no man would dare set himself against me, I believe, with Merlin the Seer at my side.”

  “Naturally, my Lord, I will assist you when I can. But understand this: I am in the control of no man. My destiny will reveal itself, and until then I practice my arts only to aid those in peril. Not to wage war, nor to further the causes of avaricious men.”

  There was an audible intake of breath around the table. Lord Geraint’s expression hardened.

  “Why, sir, do you inhabit such a lofty pinnacle that you can look down and judge me?” He leaned in closer, his wine-fumed breath near Megan’s face. “I have heard tell of how you battle with dragons. Are you dragon slayer, too? Shall you conjure one up so that we might see you wrestle it here and now?” He laughed heartily at the notion, his men joining in the joke enthusiastically.

  Megan wondered that any man could keep his manners and his dignity under such brash ridicule. If Lord Geraint had truly hoped to make an ally of Merlin it seemed he was prepared to give up such an idea quickly if the stranger proved unwilling. He must fear the magician to treat him with such contempt. Was his purpose then to threaten him? To control him at any cost if he could not secure his friendship? If Merlin suspected any such thing he showed no outward sign.

  “I see you have jesters and fools in your employ already, Lord Geraint. They would not thank me, I think, for acting in their place.”

  At this Lady Rhiannon could be heard laughing sharply. Lord Geraint frowned. Beside him his men at arms grew restless.

  “Indeed, I know a fool when I see one,” he said flatly. “Just as I know a man who would crush another beneath his foot to get to where he wants to be, and yet another who would smile as he pushed a dagger into your heart.” He illustrated his observation by stabbing another piece of meat with his silver knife. “Which are you, I wonder?”

  “I would not choose to be any such person, my Lord. But each man must do as his conscience bids him, surely?” Merlin held Lord Geraint’s stare as he spoke.

  “He must. And I aim to see that your conscience bids you assist me, Magician. I have these past seven years suffered unwanted intrusions and skirmishes from a neighbor who calls himself ‘noble.’ I plan to be rid of him once and for all. But the terrain that lies between us is dense with woodland and narrow valleys. It is a place for ambush and defeat for any army that ventures within, unless they had the advantage of surprise, perhaps. And of knowing the movements and actions of their adversary. Such a talented person as you yourself could, I understand, furnish me with this information at the precise time I require i
t. I can rely upon you to do this for me? Assure me of this.”

  All at the table fell silent now. While the feasting and merrymaking continued among the villagers, and the minstrels played on, those within earshot of Lord Geraint’s words waited for the stranger’s response.

  Merlin put down his knife slowly. He seemed on the point of speaking when a loud cry went up from the top of the hill.

  “The wheel is ready!”

  Everyone turned to look and the villagers scrambled to their feet. At the top of the hill a cartwheel had been daubed with tallow and was now set alight. Amidst much cheering and shouting it was moved into position. Children and young men raced from their places to take positions behind the wheel.

  Brychan and Huw leaped from their seats.

  “May we go, Father, may we?”

  “Please!” they clamored.

  Lord Geraint was in no mood for such frivolity, but Lady Rhiannon stepped forward, pushing the boys gently.

  “Go, children, hurry up. Llewelyn, go with them. See they stay safe,” she said.

  Llewelyn narrowed his eyes at the indignity of the task, hesitating. Lord Geraint growled at him.

  “Go, man! Do as she bids you.”

  The adults watched as the excited children took their places. The wheel was ready. The priest stood by muttering a harvest prayer, but his words were lost in the older, more basic exultations of the crowd. This was a ritual the church had seen fit to include in its celebrations, but it belonged to a time when gods were many and men made offerings and symbolic gestures to stave off starvation in the winter months to come. At last the wheel was heaved over the brow and began its descent. The faster it rolled the more fiercely it burned, until it was a fiery mass hurtling down the hill. Behind it ran the youngsters, screaming and shouting, caught up in the wake of the dancing flames. That the wheel kept to its given course and did not divert to plow through the villagers and their feast was nothing if not a small miracle in itself, and confirmed to all the blessing that was upon the occasion. At last the fireball came to a crashing stop at the bottom of the hill. The revelers danced around it, jeering and baying, in a moment that signified a mood shift in the day. The musicians struck up raucous tunes, their pipes and drums blaring and thumping into the hot air. Many people left their food and came to the wheel to dance, while others called for more ale, draining their tankards and banging them on the table to be replenished. As if some greater power watching the proceedings disapproved of these beginnings of bawdiness the sky darkened.