Arthur pc-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  '"Someone appears to have been rather careless with this torch," says Arthur. "A shame, too, for now I do not know where I shall sleep tonight," he tells him – for all it is barely daylight! You should have seen Morcant's face – a rare sight, I tell you.

  '"My palace!" screams Morcant. His face is blue-black with venom now; he is bloated with it. "You are burning my palace!" His eyes bulge as he stares at the smoke.

  '"Yes," says Arthur, in a voice hard as cold steel, "I am burning your palace. There is but one way to save it: end your war with Madoc and Bedegran, and pay me tribute."

  '"The Devil take you!" cries Morcant. "No one dictates terms to me!"

  'Arthur turns and hands the torch to Bedwyr and says, "Take this to the stables and stores. See if they leap as quick to the flame as Morcant's hall." So, Bedwyr obliges,' laughed Cai. 'He is only too eager to please.

  'Morcant hears this, of course. And he cannot believe his ears. "No! No!" he screams, just like that, losing all command.

  'But Arthur heeds him not.' Cai shook his head in admiration. 'He is fearless, Arthur is.'

  'What happened next?' I asked, relishing his story immensely.

  'Well,' Cai took a long draught of his beer, 'Morcant orders his men to attack. Cerdic leads them. But what can they do? They beat on the gates with the pommels of their swords. Some of them have cut down a small tree and they try with that to break in. But their hearts are not in it.

  'Arthur knows this, so he tells us not to stone them. "Let be," he says. "Our sword brothers are confused. Do not hurt them."

  'The smoke is rolling thick and black now. Bedwyr has not actually set fire to the stores, but has dumped a quantity of grains into the yard and is burning that, you see, so it makes a deal of smoke. They have put a wagon or two full of hay into it as well, I think, and,' Cai broke off to laugh, 'he has brought some horses to stand nearby. The horses are afraid of the fire, of course, and they start raising a fearful din.

  'Morcant hears this – how can he help it? "Stop! Stop!" he cries. "I will do as you ask. Name your tribute," he roars; he can hardly spit out the words he is so raged. Cerdic howls like a dog gone mad.

  '"Thirty of your warriors," Arthur tells him.

  '"Never!" King Morcant bellows.

  "'Fifty then," the Duke replies.

  '"Go you to hell, whore spawn!" is Morcant's answer.

  '"Cai, I do not think Lord Morcant believes that we are in earnest. Take you a torch to his chambers and treasury," Arthur orders. He gazes down upon the writhing snake below and says, "Fortunately, we find no end of things to burn."

  'And I make ready to do as I am bid. Well, Morcant is hearing this with his mouth open. He cannot believe what his ears are telling him. Still, he does not say anything, so I am beginning to think that he is stubborn enough to let it all go up in flames, just to spite Arthur.

  'But, just as I leave the wall, I hear him shouting again. "Stop! Stop!" he cries. "I will do it!"

  'I know better than to trust Morcant. I imagine him letting us think we are safe away and then turning on us the moment we show our backs. But Arthur has already thought of this, you see. So he says to Morcant, "Very well, you had better come in and tend to this fire before your palace is a heap of ashes." And he orders a gate to be opened.'

  'How did he keep Morcant from overwhelming you all when they came in?' I asked, thinking that this was precisely what Morcant would do.

  Cai threw back his head and laughed. 'We let them in but one at a time and took their arms as they came through,' Cai replied. 'Oh, he was canny, was Arthur. He took sword and spear, and issued jug and jar – to fight the fire, you see. By the time Morcant gains entrance, his men are busy fighting the flames and their weapons lie in a heap in the yard.

  'Morcant was mad enough to bite the heads off snakes, but even he saw the futility of attacking Arthur alone. He boiled about like a cauldron left on the hearth too long, but he did not raise blade against us. I think he hoped to catch us in a mistake later on.' Cai's voice lowered to a tone approaching reverence. 'But Arthur was Morcant's master long before Caer Uintan's flames sprouted.'

  'How did you get out alive?' I wondered. 'It was a dangerous game Arthur played.'

  'Oh, it is a marvel indeed,' Cai agreed. 'In the end we simply rode out the way we rode in – but there were more of us by fifty, mind. For the Duke took his tribute from Morcant's best warriors.

  '"Cai," he says to me, "you and Bedwyr choose out the best from among them. But mark you well: take only young men who have no kinsmen among those we leave behind." And this we did.'

  I too marvelled at the shrewdness of it, as incisive as it was brazen. It took courage, yes, but it also took a rare and ready wit. Fifteen years old and well along to becoming a tactician the likes of the legendary Macsen Wledig. Arthur had ridden out with twenty-two and returned with seventy-two. He had increased the size of his warband threefold and more – and not a drop of blood spilled!

  'See, by taking only the younger men – men with no ties of kinship to any of Morcant's,' Cai explained, 'the Duke gained men he could command as his alone. They would not be looking to return to Morcant, and would not hesitate to fight against Morcant if pressed to it at need.' He paused and added, 'Though, truth be told, Arthur could have had them all. Any man among them would have followed him without so much as a backward glance. I am telling you, the warriors did not love Morcant.'

  All this Cai related upon their triumphant return. And the same tale was told Merlin hi turn. 'Well done,' said Merlin. 'Oh, very well done, indeed. Mark me, Pelleas, Arthur has won more than renown with this deed. With this he has won as many men as have ears to hear it!'

  Perhaps. But, for the present, Arthur had a problem housing and feeding the men he already had. Whatever else, tripling his warband was a costly manoeuvre. In summer they could hunt, of course, but during the long winter – when there was nothing to be done but repair weapons and wait for spring – the food would simply vanish. Little wonder we wasted not a moment sending out demands for tribute to the kings who had promised to support us.

  That summer was heady and hectic: a hall to raise, stores and granaries to erect, enclosures to build for cattle and horses, walls and earthworks to secure, food and supplies to collect. Fortunate indeed that Arthur had so many men; there was so much to be done that every hand was busy from dawn's crack to dusk's last light, and still much went undone.

  As summer faded to autumn we waited for the wagons bearing the tribute. For with each passing day our need grew more acute and we knew that we could not last the winter without the promised supplies. We had cattle pens, yes, and we had storehouses – but nothing to put in them. We had a hall, but not enough skins to sleep on, nor cloaks enough to keep us all warm.

  As I say, all the lungs had pledged tribute for the maintenance of Britain's warband. But when the first wagons began arriving – half-empty most of them, and the little they carried hardly worth transporting in the first place – we saw where the next battle would be fought.

  'Why are they doing this?' Arthur gestured hopelessly at the meagre cargo being unloaded and trundled into the stores.

  'Keep the Dux needy and they can control him. Control him and they can rule him,' Merlin answered. 'Men do not follow whom they rule.'

  'Curse them!' Arthur grew instantly livid. 'I could take by force what was promised me.'

  That would avail nothing,' Merlin soothed.

  'Then are we to starve because of them?'

  'No one will starve. Custennin and Meurig will see us through the winter, never fear.'

  'And after that? It will be long before we can get crops sown and harvested.'

  'Please!' cried Merlin. 'One worry at a time, Arthur. Do not borrow tomorrow's troubles today.'

  'We have to think about these things.'

  'Agreed, which is why I have already decided what to do.'

  Arthur kicked at the dirt with his boot. Then why do you let me take on so? Do you enjoy watching me wo
rk myself into a sweat?'

  'If you will stop raving for a moment, I will tell you what is to be done.'

  Which is how I came to find myself aboard a ship, sailing across the sea called Muir Nicht, on my way to Armorica.

  SIX

  I had never been on a ship before, and discovered sea travel most unnerving and disagreeable. Though the sea remained calm, the ceaseless motion – rising, falling, rolling side to side – made me feel as if I were wine drunk and riding an unbroken colt. The crossing took the whole of one day and most of another, and never was a man more happy to espy those dust-brown hills of Armorica than I.

  Gleaming darkly in the ruddy dusk, bold red-grey banks of clouds towered high above and twilight stars already showed overhead. I saw those hills and I felt as if I had spent all my life on that cramped boat and knew land only as a rumoured thing contrived by seafarers. The miracle – Great Light, the relief! – of that landfall brought the mist to my eyes, I tell you.

  Merlin bore the journey without difficulty. He talked to the ship's pilot and crew, gleaning all he could from them. In this way he learned how affairs stood in Armorica, so that we should not be surprised at our reception there.

  Upon making landfall, Merlin hired a messenger to take word of our arrival to the lord of the realm – a land called Benowyc. We stayed the night in the seaside settlement favoured by the ship's men. The people of this port were friendly and well disposed to serving the needs of travellers. Hence we were well provided with good food and better wine than I had tasted before. They talked freely of the events of Gaul, though considered themselves apart from it – more a part of Britain, as the likeness of our shared tongue confirmed.

  I slept well that night – despite the sensation of phantom waves heaving beneath me. As we broke fast next morning, the messenger returned with a token from the lord and a message urging us to come to him at once and receive a proper welcome.

  King Ban of Benowyc was kinsman to Hoel, the king who had sheltered Aurelius and Uther from Vortigern when they were young. Hoel it was who had sent a warband to aid Aurelius against the Saecsen war leader Hengist. Thus the name of Merlin was well known to Ban, and to many others.

  We mounted our horses – I vowed never to complain of the saddle again – and proceeded at once to Benowyc, where Ban was awaiting us with all eagerness. It was no great distance, and we soon reached our destination: Caer Kadarn, a large, well-kept stronghold on a hill overlooking the sea to the north and west.

  'Hail, Merlin Embries!' he called from horseback as he rode out to greet us. 'Long have I desired to meet you.' He leaned from his saddle and gripped my master by the arms in the manner of kinsmen. 'Greetings and glad welcome to you. My hearth is yours for as long as you will stay – and I pray that stay be long.'

  My master accepted this greeting graciously. 'Hail, Lord Ban! We have heard of the hospitality and courtesy of the kings of Armorica. Surely you must stand foremost among them to welcome strangers this way.'

  This reply pleased Ban enormously. Indeed, the Annpr-icans enjoyed praise and ever sought means to elicit flattering words. 'But you are not strangers, my lord,' Ban said. The name of the great Embries is a name of renown and respect among us. You are merely a friend we have not owned the pleasure of meeting until now.'

  As I say, the Armoricans were ever mindful of our good opinion, and eager to secure it. This they accomplished adroitly and without undue effort, so adept were their skills.

  We were conducted to Ban's hall, where he had prepared a small meal of welcome: seeded bread, cheese, and a kind of heavy sweet wine. We tasted of these and listened as Ban described the events of the summer, and how he and his brother, Bors, the battlechief of Benowyc, had fought three battles against the Angli and Jutes in Gaul.

  'I would like to meet your brother,' Merlin said.

  To which Ban replied, 'Fortunate men bring their fortune with them I find. For, indeed, Bors is expected to return here the next day but one. He will want to greet you, too.'

  We spent the day talking and riding, for Ban was keen to show us his realm, and to hear us praise it. As it happened, this was no burden to us for Benowyc was a fine and fair place, good to look upon, blessed with wide fields, forests of tall timber, and long, lush hunting runs second to none. Therefore was Ban a wealthy king.

  Like many rich men, Ban proved overproud of his possessions, and took pleasure – perhaps too much – in showing them, speaking about them, lauding them and hearing them lauded.

  Still, he had the respect of his people, who knew him to be a calm and steady ruler, and generous in his dealings. And whatever else might be said, he had not allowed his fondness for wealth to corrupt his good judgement. He was not one to make another feel abused or cheated.

  Bors, on the other hand, was head to heel the warrior: hasty, intemperate, easily incited to arms and action, as fond of boasting as of drinking – and he was a champion of the cups, I can tell you! Nevertheless, he was superbly skilled in battle and in leading men, a ferocious fighter, possessing both the strength and temperament of a charging boar.

  But the brothers shared the same love of life and hatred of the barbarian. Ban and Bors could be counted on to aid any who warred against the enemies of order and right. And, with their wealth, this aid could be considerable.

  This was why Merlin had come, of course: to tell them of Arthur, and secure their good will and support. As their kinsman Hoel had aided Aurelius, Merlin hoped Ban would aid Arthur.

  But there was another reason. It was something Merlin had glimpsed in the black oak water of the Seeing Bowl – an ancient druid object he sometimes employed to search out the tangled pathways of time. He would not say what he had seen, but it disturbed him and he wanted to discover its source.

  The second day we were with Ban, the warband returned. A lavish meal – put on as much for our benefit as for the warband's, I believe – had been laid in the hall and we supped well. Bors, expansive in his pleasure at being home, turned to Merlin with a jar of beer in his hand. 'What is this I hear about you, Merlin? They tell me you are a bard. Is this so?'

  Bors meant no disrespect, so Merlin suffered his ignorance with good grace. 'My lord," he replied modestly, 'I have been known to stroke the harp now and then. Some find the noise agreeable, I believe.'

  Bors grinned and slapped the board with the flat of his hand. 'By Lud, that is a fine thing! The harp, you say? Well, I am your man, Lord Embries.'

  'Pledge me no pledges until you have heard me play,' Merlin told him. 'Armorican ears may not find favour in what they hear.'

  Bors laughed loudly at this. 'Play then, I say, that I may judge the value of British noise.'

  At my master's bidding, I fetched the harp, ready tuned, and brought it to him. And, as was the custom in that land, the women, who had taken their meal elsewhere, now entered the hall to hear the tales sung. They came into the hall and found places at the board with the men, or near the hearth.

  As it happened, Ban had a harper in his court, a young man named Rhydderch, whom everyone simply called Rhys: a thin, long-boned youth, unremarkable in aspect except for his eyes, which were large and wonderfully expressive, the colour of wood smoke. We had heard him play the night before.

  At the sight of Merlin's harp, Rhys rose from his place at one of the further tables and made his way to the king's board. There he stood a little removed, watching intently as Merlin came to stand before the assembly.

  'What would you hear, my lord?' asked my master.

  Ban thought for a moment, then replied, 'As this is a friendly gathering, let us hear a tale of friendship and honour.'

  Merlin nodded and began strumming the harp. The first notes leapt into the hushed hall, shimmering like silver coins flung from an Otherworldly purse, as Merlin's fingers wove the melody for his words.

  The tale Merlin offered was Pwyll, Lord of Annwfn, as fine a tale of honour among friends as any that exist. It was especially fitting that night in Ban's hall, for through it
Merlin was claiming friendship on behalf of Arthur, just as Arawn claimed it of Pwyll in the tale.

  When he finished, the hall sat rapt, unwilling to desecrate the blessed silence following Merlin's inspired song. Then, as the last notes faded back into Oran Mor, the Great Music, as waves fall back into the gifting sea, we heard a crash. Bors was on his feet, his bench thrown over.

  The battlechief climbed upon the board, where he stood gazing down at Merlin in awe and wonder. Bors raised his hands into the air and declared to all gathered in the hall, 'My people, hear me now! May I fall dead upon these stones at once if ever a man has heard such song beneath this roof. I say this noble service shall be rewarded… ' he grinned expansively and added, 'yes, even to the half of my kingdom.'

  So saying, Bors jumped to the floor before Merlin and gathered my master in a fierce embrace. He then removed one of his golden armbands and placed it on Merlin's arm, to the delighted approval of all gathered there.

  The people cheered and Ban banged his cup on the board, calling for more. But Merlin refused, begging pardon and promising to sing again before leaving. It was not his custom to flaunt his gifts.

  After it became clear that there would be no more singing that night, the warriors and their women began drifting off to their various sleeping-places. Ban and Bors bade us good night and left us to our rest.

  Upon reaching our chamber, however, we discovered someone waiting for us – Rhys, the young harper. His first words went straight to the matter on his heart. 'Does your lord have many fine harpers?'

  'Good night to you, Rhys,' replied Merlin. 'Leave subtlety to the wind and waves, is that it?'

  Rhys coloured at his own presumption, but did not back down. 'Forgive the impudence, lord. I speak only as one harper to another. And I would have your answer.'