Merlin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  We spoke little while we worked, enjoying the challenge of the task before us, and the rhythm of two people working as one. Once the poles of the litter had been secured, then came the difficult part: rolling the enormous carcass onto the platform. I brought my black hill pony to the boar and we looped a length of rawhide around the boar’s forelegs, and with one of the remaining poles as a lever half-dragged and half-rolled the huge carcass into position.

  Grunting, sweating, heaving at the dead weight with all our strength, we nudged the carcass onto the litter, where it slipped and rolled sideways onto my leg. The girl laughed and leaped to help me; as she bent near, I drank in the warm woman-scent and the light aromatic oils she used as perfume. The touch of her hands on my skin was like a dancing flame against the flesh.

  I struggled free of the boar, and we continued the laborious task. Some while later we finished tying down the beast, then stood looking at one another for a moment, both flushed with pride and exhaustion at our accomplishment, and dripping sweat. “After a hunt,” she told me, amusement glimmering in eyes the color of cornflowers, “I am accustomed to swim.” She paused and looked me up and down. “You could do with a bath as well, but…,” she lifted a palm equivocally, “it is getting late.”

  In truth, the prospect of bathing with this beautiful young woman sent a ripple of pleasure through my loins. I did not think it so late, but she moved away without waiting for my answer, mounted her horse, and rode a few paces before turning back to me. “Well, I suppose you have earned a crust by the fire and a pallet in the stable. You had better follow me, wolf boy.”

  I needed no second invitation, and likely would not have received one anyway, so took up my reins and followed. Getting the boar home was far from easy—fording the stream was the hardest part. But as the sun was touching the western hills we came within sight of a large settlement—at least twenty fair-sized timber dwellings crouching along the shores of a deep mountain lake. On a mound at one end of the lake stood a palace consisting of a great hall, stable, kitchen, granary, and temple—all of timber.

  We rode down to this settlement through the trees, and the people came running to greet us. Upon seeing the boar, they shouted and gave the lady loud acclaim, which she accepted with such poise and modesty that I knew her noble born. Her father ruled here, and these were his subjects and his beloved daughter. For loved she was, I could see it on the faces of those around us—she was their treasure.

  As this was so, I received a rather cooler reception. Those who noticed me at all frowned, and some pointed at me rudely. They did not like seeing a filthy foundling beside her. Indeed, with very little encouragement they would have taken up the stones at their feet and pelted me away.

  Did I blame them? No, I did not.

  I felt decidedly unworthy riding beside her. And looking at myself through their eyes…Well, trotting beside their beautiful lady on a shaggy pony was an even shaggier boy dressed in leather and wolfskin, looking like something fresh out of the northern wastes, which I was; foreign and certainly not to be trusted.

  But the girl did not seem to mind, and took no notice of my unease. I looked this way and that, with a growing feeling that it had been a mistake to come, that I should have fared better in the forest. We rode through the settlement, along the shingle beside the lake, and up the mound to the palace. The villagers did not come up, but remained a respectful distance away.

  “What is this place?” I asked as we dismounted. Servants were hurrying toward us.

  “This is my father’s house,” explained the girl.

  “Who might your father be?”

  “You will see soon enough. Here he comes.”

  I turned to where she looked and saw a giant strolling toward me with great, ground-eating strides. He was as tall as any two of the Hill Folk, taller even than Avallach, and broadly built as well, with heavy shoulders, a thick chest, and limbs like yew stumps. He had long brown hair which he wore pulled back tight and bound in a golden ring. His soft boots came to his knees, and his kilt bore the red-and-green checked design of the north. Two enormous black wolfhounds bounded at his heels.

  “My father,” said the girl and ran to meet him. He caught her up and lifted her off her feet in a fearsome embrace. I winced, fearing the cracking of her ribs. But he set her down lightly and came to where I stood.

  The giant took one glance at the boar; his eyes grew round, and he opened his mouth and laughed so that the timbers of his house shivered and the sound echoed from the tree-clad hills. “Well done, lass!” He clapped hands the size of platters. “Well done, my darling girl.”

  He kissed her and turned suddenly to me. “And who might you be, lad?”

  “He helped me with the boar, father,” the girl explained. “I told him he could have supper and a bed for his trouble.”

  “It was no trouble,” I managed to squeak out.

  “So that is the way of it,” the man said, neither pleased nor displeased as yet, but certainly reserving judgment. “Do you have a name then?”

  “Merlin,” I replied. The word sounded strange in my ears. “Myrddin ap Taliesin among my own people.”

  “You have people, do you?” Was he mocking me? “Then why are you not with them?”

  “I was taken by Hill Folk and was not able to escape until now,” I said, hoping that answer would save further explaining. “My people are in the south. I am going to them now.”

  “Where in the south?”

  “In the Summerlands and Llyonesse.”

  The man frowned. “So you say. I do not recall hearing of such places myself—if places they are. What name do your people go by?”

  “Cymry,” I told him.

  “Them I have heard of at least.” He nodded, looking at my silver tore and the gold bracelets Vrisa had given me. “They are your father’s people?”

  “Yes. My grandfather is Lord Elphin ap Gwyddno Garanhir who was king of Gwynedd.”

  “Was?”

  “He lost his lands in the Great Conspiracy and moved south.”

  The huge man sighed sympathetically. “A very bad time that. Aye, but still he was lucky—many a man lost more.” His voice was a rumble like wagon wheels going over a wooden bridge. “Your father is a prince then.”

  “My father died soon after I was born.”

  “What of your mother? You did not mention her.”

  This was odd; I had never had so much attention paid to my lineage. But then, I had never accepted lodging from a king’s daughter. “My mother is Charis, a princess of Llyonesse. My grandfather is King Avallach of Ynys Avallach.”

  He nodded approvingly, but his eyes narrowed. He seemed to be weighing me, perhaps calculating how far he could throw me into the lake, and how big the splash. At last he said, “Royalty on both sides then. Good enough.” His eyes slid past mine to his daughter and then to the carcass of the boar which his men were gutting on the spot. “Look at this now! Have you ever seen a finer prize? We will feast on it this time tomorrow.”

  With that the remarkable man turned and strode back to the great hall, the dogs trotting after him.

  “My father likes you, wolf boy. You are welcome here.”

  “Am I?”

  “I have said so.”

  “You know all about me, and I do not even know your name—or that of your father, or where I have come, or…”

  She smiled slyly. “So inquisitive.”

  “It is common courtesy where I come from.”

  “You seem to come from everywhere and nowhere. Nevertheless…” Bowing her head imperiously, she said, “I am Ganieda. My father is Custennin, King of Goddue in Celyddon.”

  “My greetings to the both of you.”

  “Our greetings to you, Myrddin ap Taliesin,” she replied nicely. “Will you come in?”

  “I will.” I inclined my head. She laughed, the sound liquid silver on the evening air. Then, drawing her arm through mine, she pulled me away. My heart nearly burst.

  * * *<
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  I slept that night on goosedown in a sleeping room next to Custennin’s great hall. I shared the room with some of the king’s men, who treated me politely, but accorded me no special favor. The next morning they rose and went about their various duties and I got up and went into the great hall, now empty but for the servants carrying off last night’s food scraps and spreading fresh rushes over the floor.

  No one took notice of me, so I drifted out into the yard and sat down on the ledge of the well and dipped out a drink from a leather cannikin. The water was ice-cold and sweet, and as I drank I thought of the journey before me that day and found the prospect a good deal less agreeable than it had been the day before.

  The dipper was still at my lips when I felt cold fingers on my neck. I hunched my shoulders and squirmed around Ganieda laughed and slipped from my reach. “You must have been very tired,” she said, “to stay so long abed—and you a traveler in a hurry.”

  “You are right, Ganieda.” I liked the feel of her name on my tongue. She was wearing her blue tunic and kilt of the day before, but had donned a long, fleece-lined cloak against the morning chill. The silver at her throat and wrists gleamed, and her black hair had been brushed so that it shone. “I slept well for the first time in many days, and as a consequence I have slept too long.”

  “Obviously you are exhausted,” she volunteered matter-of-factly. “In which case, you cannot possibly leave today. Leave tomorrow when you are better rested. That makes much better sense.” She stepped shyly forward, although there was nothing at all shy about her. “I have been thinking…” she said seriously—not too seriously, mind you, for solemnity was no great part of her nature either. “What lovely eyes! Your eyes, Myrddin—”

  “Yes?” I could feel the color rising to my cheeks.

  “They are gold—wolf’s eyes, hawk’s eyes…I have never seen eyes like this in a human being.”

  “You flatter me, lady,” I replied stiffly. Was this what she had been thinking?

  She settled herself on the stone ledge beside me. “Is it far where you are going?”

  “Far enough.” I nodded slowly.

  “How far?”

  “As far as may be.”

  “Oh.” She fell silent, chin in her hand, elbow resting on her knee.

  “Would it make a difference if it were not so far?”

  Ganieda shrugged. “Perhaps…somehow.”

  I laughed. “Ganieda, tell me what is in your mind. What have you been thinking? I tarry with you here while I should be saddling my horse and bidding Celyddon farewell.” The last word caught in my throat. Ganieda winced.

  “You do not know your way through the forest. You need someone to show you.”

  “I found my way thus far without a guide. I found you without a guide.”

  “Blind luck,” she answered gravely. “My father says that it is dangerous to trust in luck too much.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good. Then you will stay?”

  “As much as I would like to, I cannot.”

  Her face clouded, and I swear the sunlight dimmed. “Why not?”

  “I do have a long way to go,” I explained. “Winter is fast approaching, and the weather will not hold. If I do not wish to find my death frozen on a high mountain track somewhere, I must move along quickly.”

  “Is it so important—your going home?” she asked glumly.

  “It is.” And I began to tell her how it was that I came to be journeying through the forest.

  Ganieda was fascinated. I told her much more than I intended, and would have gone on speaking just to have her remain beside me listening. But as I was explaining the way the Hill Folk moved with the seasons, a horse came pounding up the slope of the mound toward us.

  Ganieda leaped to her feet and ran to meet the rider, who swung down from the saddle to kiss her. I stood slowly, disappointment scooping me hollow like a gourd, envy twisting like a knife in my gut.

  The stranger had his hand loosely around her shoulder as they came toward me. Ganieda’s smile was as luminous as the love between them. I was sick with jealousy.

  “Myrddin, my friend,” she said as they came up—at least I was acknowledged as a friend, which seemed to indicate some slight improvement in my status, “I want you to greet my…”

  I regarded the weasel who had stolen Ganieda’s affection. He was not much to look at—a big, overgrown youth who gazed out at the world through large, unconcerned eyes the color of hazel wands, his long legs terminating in great flat feet. Taken altogether, he was a pleasant-enough fellow, and not more than four or five years above my age, I judged.

  Still, though he had height, weight, and reach on me, I would have fought him willingly and without hesitation if Ganieda had been the prize. But the contest was over and he had won her; there was nothing I could do but smile stupidly and gnaw my heart with envy.

  These thoughts went through my head as Ganieda finished, saying, “…my brother, Gwendolau.”

  Her brother! I could have kissed him.

  What a handsome, intelligent fellow. Oh, happy world with such men in it! Instantly he improved enormously in my estimation, and I gripped his arms in the old greeting. “Gwendolau, I greet you as brother and friend.”

  He grinned sunnily. “I am your servant, Myrddin Wylt.” He laughed and flicked the edge of my wolfskin cloak with a finger.

  Merlin the Wild…his joking title made my flesh crawl. I heard in it the echo of something sinister and dark. The eerie feeling passed like an arrow through a night-dark wood as he clapped me on the back.

  Ganieda explained, “Myrddin is traveling south soon. His people are there. He has been living with the bhean sidhe in the north…”

  “Really?” Gwendolau appraised me curiously. “That explains the wolfskins at least. But how did you manage to survive?”

  “My God was with me,” I offered. “I was treated well.”

  Gwendolau accepted this with a good-natured nod, then, dismissing the subject, glanced at his sister. “Is Father here?”

  “He rode out early this morning, saying he would return before sunset. You are to wait for him.”

  “Ahh!” He looked distracted, then shrugged. “Well, it cannot be helped. At least I can rest until he returns. Myrddin, I give you good day. I am for my bed.” He returned to his horse and led the hard-ridden animal across the yard to the stable.

  “He has ridden far?” I asked.

  “Yes. There is trouble on the western border of our land. Gwendolau has been warning the settlements round about.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Indeed, is there more than one kind of trouble?”

  “It is late in the year for raiding.”

  “Not for the Scotti. They come across the narrows—it takes less than a day—and they row their leather boats up the Annan right into the very forest. Besides, it makes more sense to raid in autumn when all the harvests have been gathered in.”

  Her words pulled me back into the world of swords and sharp conflict. I shivered at the thought of hot blood on cold iron. I looked down to the lake, mirroring blue heaven in its depths, and there I saw the image of a mighty man wearing a steel war helm and breastplate, his throat a black wound.

  I recognized the man and shivered again.

  “If you are cold we might go in to the fire.”

  “No, Ganieda, I am not cold.” I shook my head to purge the disturbing image. “If you will walk with me to the stable, I will leave now.”

  She frowned, and at that moment a raindrop splattered her cheek. She held out her hand, and another drop splashed into her palm. “It is raining,” she observed triumphantly. “You cannot ride in the rain. Also, we will roast the boar tonight, and as you helped bring it back, you must help eat it.”

  In truth, there was but a single dark cloud overhead, but the thought of the cold, wet road ahead appealed little just then. I did not want to leave, so I allowed myself to be persuaded to stay. Ganieda tugged me back
into the hall to break fast on stewed meat, potatoes, and oatcakes.

  She did not leave my side all day, but undertook to engage me in games and music—there was a chessboard with carved pieces and she had a lyre, and had learned how to play both with skill—as if to make me forget my journey.

  The day sped like a hart in flight and when I looked out through the door of the hall, the sky was alight in the west, the sun through the grey clouds edging the hill-line with amber. My horse needs a day’s rest, I told myself. It is no bad thing to linger here a day.

  But no longer than that, I resolved—a bit late, I admit, for it was not until I saw the sun setting that I realized that my indecision had cost me a day. A pleasant day, it is true, but a day nonetheless.

  With the setting sun, King Custennin returned from his errands. He burst into the hall fresh from the saddle, his hair and cloak flying. Ganieda ran to him, and he gathered her in his huge arms and spun her around.

  It was clear to see that she was everything to him, and why not? As there appeared to be no other lady in that house, Custennin’s daughter was his sole delight. Merely seeing her cheered him like a potent draught.

  Gwendolau appeared a moment later, dressed in a silken tunic of crimson with a wide black belt. His trousers were blue-and-black checked, as was the cloak gathered over his shoulder and held with a great silver spiral brooch. His torc was silver. In all, he looked the prince he was.

  Ganieda returned to me as Gwendolau and her father went aside to discuss their business. They spoke for some time together—intense, arms folded, frowning—head-to-head in a corner of the hearth where the boar was roasting and sputtering over the cooking flame.

  With the arrival of their lord, men began streaming into the hall. Most of them had been with Custennin, but word had gone out about the feast, and there were many from the settlement invited as well. As they came in, the king and his son broke off their discussion and the lord went to greet his guests personally, embracing them heartily. Here is a man, I thought, who knows how to love his friends. What passion must he devote to his enemies?