The young woman rose, caught Arthur up, as he clung to her knees, and walked to the door. 'Enid,' I said, rising and taking a step towards her as she stood half-turned in the doorway, 'you have nothing to fear from me. I will not take Arthur from you. Nor will I allow any harm to come to either of you.'
Enid inclined her head in solemn assent, then turned and hurried away. 'I hope Tewdrig returns soon," Pelleas said. 'I think he will have something to tell us.'
'You are curious to know what happened at the council after our departure,' I replied.
'In truth, I am,' he admitted with a grin. 'But my curiosity is more than idle, Emrys.'
'Did I suggest otherwise?'
We did not have long to wait. Tewdrig arrived the next day. He was pleased to find us waiting for him, and wasted not a moment summoning his counsellors to his chambers. 'I want my advisers and I want my cup. I have ridden from one end of this island to the other and I am thirsty.' He bade me attend him and went directly to his chamber at the far end of the hall.
Meurig, who had been in Londinium with his father, ordered beer to be brought. The young man muttered, 'You would have thought his hall was afire! We have been in the saddle since before sunrise, Myrddin. I have eaten nothing from that time to this.'
Just then Tewdrig's voice sounded from behind the curtain at the end of the hall. 'Meurig! I am waiting!'
The young man sighed again, and made to hurry away. 'Pelleas will see to the beer,' I told him, sending my companion away with a glance. 'Let us attend Lord Tewdrig.'
'I tell you, Myrddin, you have stuck a sharp stick into the hive this time,' Tewdrig said when he saw me. 'Coledac was so angry he could not speak. Dunaut's face went black with bile, and Morcant – well, I thought the old snake would swell up and burst.' He laughed mirthlessly. 'What I would have given to see that!'
'I have never seen such anger that did not find release in swordblows.' Meurig kneaded the back of his neck with his hand. 'But you had vanished, Myrddin Emrys. What could they do?'
'I tell you the truth,' said Tewdrig in solemn tones, 'had you not left when you did, you would be a dead man now. I swear on Dafyd's altar, your head would be hanging above the gates of Londinium. Dunaut would have insisted.'
'Do they know where I have gone?' I asked.
Tewdrig shook his head. 'I do not see how anyone could know: I did not.'
'Then we still have time,' I replied, mostly to myself, for Pelleas appeared just then with cups and jars.
Meurig clapped his hands sharply. 'Ah, here's the beer. Good! Fill the cups, Pelleas, and do not stop filling them until I call enough!'
'Time for what?' wondered Tewdrig as the cups were passed.
'For disappearing.'
Tewdrig eyed me curiously. 'A wise plan, no doubt. Where will you go?'
'To Goddeu in Celyddon. Arthur will be safer with Custennin.'
'So,' replied Tewdrig slowly. 'You still believe the child a danger to himself.'
'What can Custennin provide that we cannot?' demanded Meurig, wiping foam from his moustache. 'Let them come. If there is any safe place in all the Island of the Mighty, it is Caer Myrddin. We can protect our own.'
'No,' I told him. 'It cannot be that way.'
'When will you go?' asked Tewdrig.
'Soon – depending upon what took place at the council,' I answered.
Tewdrig raised his cup and gazed at me in disbelief. 'Hmph!' he snorted. 'That you know as well as I!'
'I mean,' I explained, 'will they abide the challenge of the sword?'
'Well, it was difficult. You did not make it easy for us.' The chieftain drew a hand through his hair. 'But in the end it was agreed that we would meet your challenge.' Tewdrig shook his head slowly. 'Oh, you were shrewd, Myrddin. I think Dunaut and Morcant and the others believed that they would win the sword through strength alone. The fools should have known it would not be as easy as that.'
Tewdrig drank deep from his cup. When he lowered it again he laughed, saying, 'You should have seen them! They might sooner uproot high Yr Wyddfa as budge that sword. It is planted fast – and I know: I tried my own hand. Twice!'
Meurig smiled ruefully and said, 'I confess, Myrddin, I tried mine too. But had I been the giant Ricca himself, there was no removing that sword.'
'You said they would abide the test – are you certain?'
'What else can they do?' said Tewdrig. 'At first, they expected that one of them should obtain the sword and settle the thing for once and all. By the time they realized their mistake it was too late – we had all vowed to honour the decision of the sword. None of them guessed it would be so difficult, or they would not have sworn so. To back down now would be to admit defeat. Men like Dunaut would rather die than prove you right, Myrddin. So the thing stands.'
'When no one succeeded,' put in Meurig, 'Bishop Urbanus declared that the Jords should come together at the Christ Mass to try the sword again.'
Yes, that was Urbanus: eager for whatever crust the kings would toss him. Well, if it brought them back to the church, so be it. I wanted nothing more to do with them; I saw a different path stretching before me now, and I grew eager to see where it would lead.
'Will they go, do you think?' asked Pelleas.
Tewdrig shrugged. 'Who can say? It is a long time until next midwinter – much can happen. They may forget all about the sword in the stone.' He laughed sharply again. 'But, by the God who made me, Myrddin Emrys, they will not forget you!'
TWO
As it happened, we stayed with Tewdrig through that spring, and would have stayed longer had not Bleddyn ap Cynfal, of Caer Tryfan in the north, come to visit. The Lords of Rheged maintained close alliance with the Lords of Dyfed in the south for mutual protection. Tewdrig and Bleddyn were kinsmen; they visited one another often to trade and discuss matters between them.
I did not know Bleddyn, but he knew me. 'Greetings, Lord Emrys,' Bleddyn said; he paid me the compliment of touching the back of his hand to his forehead out of respect. 'I have long wanted to meet you. Indeed, I hope one day to show you the generosity of my hearth.'
'Your offer is most kind, Lord Bleddyn,' I replied. 'Be assured that if I ever have need of a friend in the north, I will call on you.'
'We are both kinsmen and friends,' Tewdrig said. 'Trust Bleddyn as you would trust me.'
Bleddyn accepted Tewdrig's compliment with easy deference. 'It may be, Lord Emrys, that you will require a northern friend sooner than you think.'
I heard the subtle warning in his words. 'How so?'
'They say Dunaut and Morcant are turning over every stone in their search for Uther's bastard. They say they are looking for the boy to protect him from all harm – though if you believe that, you are more fool than Urbanus.'
'So, it begins at last. It has taken them longer than I expected to remember Arthur.'
'As to that,' Bleddyn replied, 'Uther's queen has just given birth to a daughter. No doubt they merely waited to be certain which way to jump. Of course, it is nothing to me one way or the other. But if the child is Uther's, then it would shame us to allow either of those two to get his hands on the boy. It would be, I think, a brief fostering. Too brief, perhaps, for your liking – or the boy's."
In those days, many noble houses still observed the custom of fosterage where the young were raised in households of trusted kinsmen. The benefits of this practice were many – chief among them the strengthening and increase of bonds of kinship. Indeed, Bleddyn had brought his young son Bedwyr, a boy of four or five summers, to receive his first brief fostering at Caer Myrddin.
I considered his words carefully, and before I could reply, he said, 'Come, Lord Emrys. Return with us when we go back to our lands. You will be welcome there.'
'It is long since I sojourned in the north,' I told him, making up my mind at once. 'Very well, we will return with you. Let Morcant find us if he can.'
Thus, when Bleddyn returned to Caer Tryfan, four more rode with him: Pelleas, Enid and Arthur, and I.
We made camp along the way, avoiding as much as possible any contact with those whose lands we passed through, especially the strongholds of lords and chieftains. We might have received warmth and welcome, to be sure, but it was best that no one knew my movements.
Caer Tryfan proved a good place for us. If I had searched every glen in the north, I could not have chosen one better: protected by high crags of rock, sheltered both from the fierce northern winds and from the prying eyes of proud southern lords. Bleddyn made us welcome and showed himself the openhanded lord of a frank and generous people.
We settled there and made our home among them. Autumn, winter, spring, summer, the seasons progressed uneventfully. Enid continued to look after Arthur, and seemed well-pleased with her new home; in time she even married and began another family of her own. Arthur grew hale and healthy, going from strength to strength as he mastered the small tasks of childhood. Soon, it seemed, Bleddyn's youngest son returned and found a ready friend in young Arthur. Bedwyr – a slim, graceful boy, dark as Arthur was fair – bold shadow to Arthur's bright sun – took young Arthur under his care.
The two became constant friends, inseparable: golden mead and dark wine poured into the same cup, as they say. It was joy itself to see them at play. The fervour of their purpose was not the less for the fact that their swords were wooden. Oh, they were ferocious as mountain cats and just as wild. Each day they returned from their weapons practice trailing clouds of glory.
On account of the boys' friendship, Bleddyn delayed sending Bedwyr to his second fostering. But the day could not be held off forever. Sooner or later, Bedwyr and Arthur must be separated. For Arthur's sake, I dreaded the day. Then, just after harvest time in Arthur's seventh year, we took the boys to the Warriors' Gathering.
Once a year, the northern lords assembled their warbands for a few days to feast and hold games of skill at arms. It was for sport, of course, but it produced a considerable benefit in allowing the younger men a chance to try their skills against more experienced warriors, to test their mettle before actual battle-albeit in a sometimes painful way. Better a bruise from a friend, however, than a bloodletting at the hands of the foe. And the Saecsen kind were not known to leave off at a cry of I yield!'
Bedwyr and Arthur had heard of the Gathering and began badgering me about it. 'Please, let us go, Emrys,' Bedwyr pleaded. 'We will stay out of the way. You will not know we are there, and neither will anyone else. Say yes, Myrddin.'
The Gathering was for warriors who had already joined a warband. Boys were not normally allowed to attend, and they both knew this. I was about to say them no on this account.
'It would be good for us to go,' insisted Arthur seriously. 'It would help with our training.'
I could not argue with this logic; it was in nowise a bad notion. Still, it was not the tradition, and I was doubtful. 'I will ask Bleddyn,' I told them, 'if you promise to abide by his decision.'
Bedwyr's face fell. 'Then we will be staying here another year. My father will never let us go.'
'Another year?' I asked. 'I do not recall you asking to go last year.'
The young prince shrugged. 'I wanted to ask, but Arthur said no. He said we were still too young, and it would do us no good to go. So, we waited to ask this year.'
I turned to Arthur. 'You have been waiting all year?' He nodded. 'It seemed better to me.' Later that night, I argued their case before Bleddyn. 'Such thinking shows wisdom, and should be rewarded. Undoubtedly, they would learn much. I say they should be allowed to go.'
Bleddyn considered this for a moment, and asked, 'Assuming I allowed it, what would they do at the Gathering?’
‘I honestly cannot say.' I laughed. 'But I do not think it would matter overmuch to them if all they did was stand aside and watch. And Arthur is right: it would help with their training.'
'Next year, perhaps; they may be ready for it,' Bleddyn allowed. 'They are too young yet.'
'So I told them, but Bedwyr informed me they have already waited a year.' Bleddyn raised his eyebrows in surprise, so I explained quickly. 'It is the truth. They wanted to go last year, but Arthur decided they would have a better chance if they put off asking until this year, when they were a little older. So they waited.'
'Remarkable,' mused Bleddyn. 'Such patience and forethought is indeed rare in one so young. You are right, Myrddin, it should be rewarded. Very well, I will allow it. But you and Pelleas will have to look after them and keep them out of trouble. I have business with the northern lords.'
So it was that Pelleas and I became shepherd to two young boys on shaggy ponies at the Warriors' Gathering.
Bleddyn's warband, the largest among the northern clans, numbered over a hundred, but the five lords who owed Bleddyn fealty each boasted warbands almost as large. Thus, with several hundred warriors in attendance, the Celyddon Gathering was by no means an insignificant affair. In later years, the Gatherings would draw whole settlements, clans, and chiefdoms to the spectacle. But at this time it was for noblemen and their warbands alone – and two young would-be warriors who had the king's let to attend.
Within Celyddon forest itself there was no clearing large enough to hold a gathering of any good size. But north of Celyddon, where the forest gave way once more to high, windswept moors, there were many broad valleys well suited for such a venture.
One bright autumn day, soon after the harvest was completed and secured for the winter, Bleddyn mounted with his warband, and we started for the hills. For two days we rode through the forest, hunting in Celyddon's game-tracks along the way.
The warriors' spirits were high; there was much good-natured jostling and jesting. The forest echoed with the sound of laughter and song. At night the men built great fires and clamoured for a tale of valour; I summoned my harp from Pelleas and sang to the throng. Bedwyr and Arthur were foremost among them, of course, bright-eyed and eager to the last, lingering note.
Early on the fifth day we reached the forest's end, and by dusk arrived at the gathering place: a wide valley formed at the meeting of two rivers. The sun had already dropped behind the high shoulder of the hill, but the sky was illumined with the soft, golden light peculiar to the northern country.
Suffused in this honeyed light, we crested a long ridge and paused to look down into the valley. Three or four warbands were already there, and the smoke from their cooking fires hung silver in the still evening air.
At the sight of the fires below, blazing like new-fallen stars, the boys halted. 'I never imagined there would be so many,' Bedwyr gasped. 'There must be ten thousand!'
'Not as many as that,' I assured him. 'But it is more than have gathered in many years.'
'Why?' asked Arthur.
'Because the lords are increasing the warbands each year. We need more warriors to fight the Saecsens.'
'Then it is good Bedwyr and I have come,' he replied thoughtfully.
Bedwyr put the lash to his pony and rode ahead to join the first of the warriors making their way down to the valley. 'Arthur!' Bedwyr shouted. 'Come on! Hurry!'
The two boys slapped their horses to respectable speed and flew down the hillside, whooping like the bhean sidhe. 'I hope we have not made a mistake,' Pelleas said, watching the two boys streaking away. When Pelleas and I finally caught them again, they were sitting by a fire listening to a harper sing the Battle of the Trees. Since there could be no stirring them until the song was over, we settled down beside them cross-legged on the ground to wait.
The harper belonged to the household of one of Bleddyn's kinsmen, a man with a Roman name: Ectorius. This Ectorius held lands a little north and east of Celyddon on the sea, a difficult region to protect, since the Saecsens and their minions – Frisians, Angles, Jutes, and others – often sought landing there in one of the innumerable, nameless rock bays, coves, and inlets.
He was a big man with a fiery red beard and a head of frizzled, copper-coloured hair which he wore bound at the nape of his neck. Though not tall, he stood on sturdy legs like oak stum
ps, and was reputed to have once crushed a cask by squeezing it in his thick-set arms. If his feats of strength were storied, his skill at arms was legendary. One swift stroke of his sword could part the purple from the head of a thistle, or as easily split a man in half.
Ectorius was as jovial as he was fearless. Never a man laughed but Ectorius laughed louder and longer. And no man enjoyed a good song more, nor beer, nor meat. If his taste was not particularly discriminating, at least it entertained the widest possible latitude of acceptance.
No harper, however mediocre, was ever turned from Ectorius' hearth. As long as the wretch could warble a tale to its conclusion, his patron was in bliss. In consequence, his generosity to bards was well known and he rarely wanted for a night's entertainment. The better bards vied for the opportunity of singing for him.
Thus, it was Ectorius' fire which had drawn the boys. There they were made welcome, and were not unnecessarily reminded of their youth.
The harper knew his tale, and he sang with fervour, if in a peculiarly tuneless voice. Still, no one seemed to mind – least of all Arthur and Bedwyr, whose faces glowed with pleasure in the light of the fire.
When, at last, the tale was finished, a cheer went up. The harper accepted his acclaim, bowing modestly to his listeners. Ectorius elbowed his way forward and clapped the singer on the back, praising him loudly. 'Well done! Well done, Tegfan. The Battle of the Trees… Splendid!'
Then the lord's eye lit on the boys, as we rose to return to our camp. 'Och!' he called. 'Hold, men! What have we here?'
'Lord Ectorius,' I said, 'allow me to present King Bleddyn's son Bedwyr, and his swordbrother, Arthur.'
Both Arthur and Bedwyr saluted the lord, touching the backs of their hands to their foreheads in the age-old sign of respect.
Beaming broadly, he placed a big hand on each boy's shoulder and squeezed. 'Stout lads. I give you good greeting! May you fare well while you are among us.'
Bedwyr and Arthur shared a secret glance, and Arthur spoke up boldly, 'We are not to take part, Lord Ectorius.'
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