Arthur pc-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  The arrogance! He considered himself an equal to Merlin!

  'Speak your mind, lad,' Merlin told him. 'Such reticence has no place among friends.'

  Rhys blinked back witlessly and looked to me for help.

  'You are being reminded of your manners,' I told him.

  The young man blushed still brighter, but blundered on. 'Guile is most distasteful to me, my lord, I assure you. If that is what you mean.'

  'Your directness is refreshing, Rhys. I stand admonished,' Merlin laughed. 'How may I serve you?'

  'But I have already said.' He spread his hands helplessly.

  'Then hear my answer,' replied Merlin. 'The lord I serve owns merely the cloak on his back and the sword at his side. He is gathering his warband and retinue now, it is true, but there is not a harper among them. It is a luxury he can ill afford.'

  Rhys nodded, as if making up his mind. 'Then your Lord Arthur will require someone to sing his victories before the hearth.' The harp in Merlin's hands might have been an oar for all he noticed.

  'I trust you will allow my Lord Arthur to content himself with first getting a hearth.'

  'All the more reason,' declared Rhys triumphantly. 'How else will his renown increase sufficiently that men will esteem and follow him? Besides, I can wield a sword as well as I play the harp, and I am the best in all Benowyc at that. Ask who you will.'

  Then I invite you to come with us, if nothing prevents you,' my master told the young harper. 'However, I think your lord will have a word or two to say in the matter. Indeed, from what I have seen, Bors is himself a lord worthy of his renown. No doubt your art would be far better rewarded here.'

  'Lord Bors is indeed a worthy chieftain,' agreed Rhys readily. 'But he has four harpers to sing his praise, and… ' here was the source of his complaint to be sure, 'I am the least among them – in rank, mind, not in skill. They are jealous, and for this reason take no account of me.'

  'I see,' Merlin allowed, pulling on his chin. 'Yes, that is a problem. And you think that with Arthur you might fare better. Is that it?'

  'For a truth, it is,' Rhys agreed seriously. 'At least, I do not think I could fare much worse.'

  'Then, if you are not afraid to ply the sword as well as the harp, I believe you might account yourself well received.'

  We left the matter there for the night, and thought no more about it until the next day when, as we took our midday meal, Bors approached. 'God be good to you, my friends,' he called. 'I hope you are finding our simple fare to your liking.'

  'You and your brother are most kind and generous. And, yes, the food is to our taste.'

  'Good!' cried Bors, as if he had been waiting all day to hear it. 'That is very good.' He settled on the bench beside Merlin and helped himself to the bread and meat in the bowls before us.

  'Now then,' he said, tearing the bread between his hands, 'what is this I am hearing about you stealing one of my bards?'

  'Rhydderch told you about his plan, did he?'

  'Will you take him?' Bors asked amiably.

  'It is not for me to say,' Merlin explained. 'The decision will be yours and Arthur's – as I told the boy. Will you let him go?'

  Bors chewed thoughtfully for a moment before answering. 'Although I am loath to lose a good harper, I am honour-bound to grant you your reward – '

  'I have asked no reward,' protested Merlin quickly.

  ' – grant your reward for last night's song,' Bors continued. 'Why, half the realm heard the promise from my own mouth!'

  'Please, you owe me nothing. I gave as I have been given.'

  'Would you have it whispered about that Bors of Benowyc's word is worth less than the air it takes to speak it?' Bors shook his head gravely, but his eyes were merry. 'That would never do.'

  'True… ' Merlin agreed slowly.

  'So, you shall have Rhys, my Lord Embries,' said Bors, and added shrewdly: 'But I would be less than prudent if I let him go alone.'

  'True again. What do you propose?'

  'I propose to go with him. To make certain that the boy does not come to harm, you understand.'

  'I see,' my master replied. 'By all means, please continue.'

  'Of course,' said Bors, as he tossed a bit of meat into his mouth and licked his fingers, 'I could not go alone. As I am a friendly man, I would need my companions with me lest I become lonely.'

  'To be sure, sojourning far from home often makes a man lonely.'

  'A hundred of my best should suffice, I think. With weapons and horses for all, I should not be lonely then.'

  Merlin laughed heartily and commended Bors' thoughtful-ness. Bors enjoyed his jest, but held up his hands, saying, 'You praise me too highly. I assure you, I am only looking to my own comfort in the matter.'

  Ban and Bors had guessed why Merlin had come, and were not willing to see him demean himself by begging support which they were only too happy to provide. So, to save him the embarrassment – little did they know my master if they weened he would shrink from any deed in the advancement of Arthur! – the brothers made the offer of men and horses in this way. Nor did Merlin fail to recognize the gesture for what it was. He also acknowledged their prudence: every battle fought against the Saecsens hi Britain was one less to fight on their own soil.

  'I tell you, Pelleas,' he said later, 'these men are first in hospitality and honour. Would that Britain's lungs were as well disposed to aiding Arthur.'

  One purpose of our journey had been accomplished, and far more quickly than we could have hoped. Of the other purpose Merlin still had said nothing. The next day Ban conducted Merlin on a circuit of his realm, visiting the places deemed most likely to impress a stranger. I stayed behind to hunt with Bors, and we enjoyed long rides and evenings in the hall, good food and better wine, and the best of song.

  The curious custom of the women – eating apart and joining the men in the hall for the entertainment – was observed on these occasions. So it was not until the third night that I saw her: a peerless maid, possessed of a rare and exquisite beauty.

  She entered with the other women and found a place near the hearth. From the moment that I saw her sitting there – leaning forward slightly to hear the song, hands folded in her lap, eyes bright with joy and anticipation, lips framing a smile that spoke pure delight and a soul in love with life…

  Bors saw my lingering glance, laughed, and said, 'Yes, she is beautiful, is she not? Her name is Elaine.'

  Elaine! The name stirred within me such feeling that I lost all power of speech.

  Elaine…

  From the depths of my mind, the memory surfaced: of AvaJlach's four ships to escape the cataclysm that destroyed Atlantis, only three had reached Britain. The last, the fourth, had been lost…

  Avallach had lost his son, Kian; and Belyn, my father, had lost his wife and queen: her name had been Elaine. Although my father never spoke about her, I had heard the story of the missing ship many times in his court.

  I did not require further confirmation. By her stature, grace and bearing alone, I knew in my heart that the lady before me was of my race. I sat gazing at her, the realization making my head swim: Fair Folk in Armorica!

  Could it be?

  Bors mistook my stare for fascination, saying, 'You would not be the first man to succumb to the charm of a Faery maid.'

  'How came this woman to be in your court?' I asked, my voice harsh in my ears.

  That is no mystery. My father's father, King Banw, married one of their kind. Though beautiful, the woman was frail and died without giving him an heir. He took another wife, of course, but always said his heart belonged to his Faery queen. Since Banw's time there have been Faery with us. Elaine is of their race. They are aloof and haughty, it is true, but they are a peaceable folk for all their strangeness, and keep to themselves.'

  'Where do they abide?'

  'In the forest Broceliande – a goodly distance to the east.' Bors observed me closely, as if regarding me for the first time. He leaned close, as if offering
a confidence. 'I have heard it said that Lord Embries is of the Faery. Is this so?'

  'So it is said.'

  Bors nodded as if that explained much. 'And you?'

  'Yes.'

  'I thought as much. I mentioned it to Ban, but my brother said it was nonsense.'

  'People make more of it than there is,' I assured him. 'The Fair Folk are not so different as many believe.'

  He accepted this with a ready laugh. 'There is no end of things people believe. I have heard it said that your people can change shape as you will – become wolves or stags or owls, or whatever.'

  Our talk turned gradually to other things, but I thought to myself, Fair Folk here, here in Armorica! Merlin must hear of this!

  SEVEN

  Broceliande lay two days' ride from the coastland into the wide low hills of Armorica. The land across the Narrow Sea is not as wet, not as given to mists and fogs and rain as Ynys Prydein. And at the height of summer it can be hot; the heat rises from the earth to dance in shimmering waves along the hilltops and ridges, and the dust puffs up beneath the horses' hooves.

  It is a fair land. Streams and rivers, lakes and springs and pools there are in number. Trees grow tall, and the woodlands abound with all manner of game for the table. A lord would call himself blessed to hold such a realm; indeed, many I know hold far less of far worse and think themselves fortunate.

  Thus it is something of a mystery to me that there are not more settlements in that region. Although we did pass through two new holdings on our way, these were being cleared and settled by Britons who, like others from the eastern and southern regions of Britain, had begun crossing the sea to escape the raiding Saecsen. A forlorn and slender hope. The Saecsen left Armorica alone for the most part because Britain was the more ripe for plunder.

  If Britain fell, or if it rallied and discouraged raiding altogether, the barbarian would look to Armorica soon enough, and where would civilized men escape to then?

  The thought that fellow countrymen – our own kinsmen! – were deserting our land discouraged Merlin. He did not like to see it, nor did I. But I understood and forgave them their fear, whereas Merlin felt betrayed.

  'Do they think to escape the Darkness simply by crossing a little water?' he asked, eyeing the rude settlement sadly. 'I tell you the truth, Pelleas: when the sun goes down, the light fails for everyone, and all men will curse the night as one.'

  He sighed and shook his head slowly. 'And there will be no bringing back the light once it has gone.'

  So it was not altogether a light-hearted journey for us. But upon arriving at the edge of the forest we encountered a small holding – not more than a handful of mud-daubed huts and a briar cattle enclosure. The people living there were kindly and eager for news of the wider world. When we asked after the Fair Folk settlement, they were pleased to tell us where and how to find it, and would have sent someone to conduct us there if we had allowed it. The Fair Folk, they said, were solitary and did not welcome strangers. Nevertheless, they possessed the knowledge of many extraordinary secrets and helped the settlement from time to time as need arose.

  In all, we found Broceliande to be very like Celyddon, and the Fair Folk settlement almost identical to Custennin's. The forest, dark and deep grown, hid the settlement from the world as surely as any enchantment.

  The holding was built of timber on the steep rock banks of a broad forest lake – as at Goddeu in Celyddon they had chosen to build near a secluded lake. The forest had not been entirely cleared; the dwellings and storehouses were scattered among the standing trees. This aided the illusion of secrecy, to be sure; but it also gave the place an air of brooding and sombre silence.

  'This is a cheerless place,' said Merlin when he saw it. We had followed the narrow pathway into the forest for a fair distance, and ridden up a slow rise, pausing on the crest to look down at the settlement below. There did not appear to be anyone about, nor signs that anyone marked our arrival. 'Well, let us go and make ourselves known to them.'

  We urged our horses forward slowly, watching the settlement for any sign of life as we came nearer.

  Sitting our horses before the foremost dwelling – a timber hall with a high-pitched roof of thatch – we waited, and a feeling of eerie foreboding crept over us. Merlin, frowning now, gazed intently at the dwelling as if to discover what had happened to its inhabitants. For neither of us weened anyone alive in the whole place.

  'They are not here,' said Merlin at length, and made to dismount. 'Let us go inside and see if we may discover what has happened to them, or where they have gone.'

  The hall smelled of decay. The rushes on the floor were spotted with mould, and webs hung from the beams and torch sconces. Platters of food stood on the board – untouched, but by mice. The ashes on the hearth were cold and damp.

  Clearly, no one had entered the hall for some time. And those last there had left it hurriedly.

  'It will be the same elsewhere,' Merlin said. 'They are gone from this place – and in great distress, I believe.'

  'Let us search the other dwellings. Perhaps we will find something to tell us where they have gone, or when.'

  So we set about inspecting the other dwellings in the set dement. Everywhere there were signs of a hasty departure: food prepared, but not eaten; hearthfires allowed to burn untended; useful objects and utensils gathered, then discarded in haphazard heaps. In one dwelling a rushlight had been lit and set on the board where it smouldered a long while, leaving a thin black scorch mark in the wood before guttering out. And in another an earthen pot set on the hearth to warm had broken from the heat, and its stew spilled out to char in the flames.

  'How strange,' I said. 'It is as if they expected to leave, but did not know when. See?' I swept the near-empty dwelling with my open hand. 'There are no weapons or clothing, no treasure or objects of value left behind. Yet there are no signs of destruction or pillage – I do not think they were attacked.'

  'Yet they were attacked,' replied Merlin, his eyes narrowed as he gazed around the interior of what surely must have been the lord's chambers. A candle tree stood by the bedplace, the tapers wasted into lumps of hardened wax on the dusty floor. 'But not by Saecsens or any of their kind.'

  'Who then?'

  He simply shook his head and said, 'Let us go from here.' He turned and led the way outside. As we emerged from the dwelling, I caught a flash of motion at the edge of my vision. I looked, but there was nothing. A moment later, my master and I heard a splash in the nearby lake – as if someone had thrown in a very large rock.

  Merlin stopped and glanced toward the lake. Without a word, we turned and walked past the horses and down a path to the lakeshore. The surface was smooth and untroubled, but at the water's edge we saw the indentations in the coarse-pebbled shingle. Merlin knelt and pressed his palm into one of the marks. 'These were made by many feet,' he said. The sorrow in his voice made it husky and thick.

  I followed the tracks to the water's edge where they disappeared.

  'Why?' I asked, my voice a whisper. I strained to see below the lake surface, thinking, I suppose, to see the tangled bodies floating there.

  'This is what I saw in the Seeing Bowl,' Merlin murmured. 'And I have come too late.' He glanced sharply at me. 'Why? As soon ask the wind – it knows far more than I.' He stood and looked long at the smooth, glimmering water, calm in the deep solitude of the forest.

  'But I can tell you this,' Merlin said quietly, 'the scent of death is in this place… it lingers… like the stench of rotting meat in the ground… like a killing fog over the fen. Death is here… '

  All at once he squeezed his eyes tight and pressed his palms flat against his temples. His mouth opened in a tremendous cry of anguish. 'AHHHP Merlin's voice echoed over the water and was swallowed by the close-grown forest round about.

  I took him by the arm to steady him. He opened his eyes slowly, the bright golden gleam now darkened with pain and sorrow. 'Morgian!' he uttered, his voice strangled with grief. 'It was M
orgian… '

  He turned at once and began climbing back up the trail to the horses. I stood for a moment longer, gazing into the clear water. The lake, cold and deep and dark, revealed nothing. But, as I made to move away, the glint of metal caught my eye and I glanced down at my feet. A small silver brooch lay on the shingle where it had fallen.

  I picked it up and held it in my hand. A simple shell-shaped disc with a hole through which to gather the cloth, and a long silver pin to hold the garment. The ornament was bent – trodden on, I thought.

  As I turned it over, I saw a tatter of bright blue cloth still firmly held by the pin. It came into my mind that the brooch had been wrenched from the garment by force; torn from the body of the person who had worn it, and thrown down to be trampled underfoot. I looked once more at the unruffled surface of the lake, and at the marks made by many feet on the shore. Cold dread stole over me where I stood.

  I rucked the brooch under my belt and hurried up the track to where Merlin waited. I swung into the saddle and wheeled my horse onto the trail, well ready to be gone from this melancholy place.

  We started back at once, wending through the shadows and gloom in silence, sensing with every plodding step the dull horror of the deserted settlement and wondering what atrocity had been committed there.

  I led the way along the path and Broceliande became even more forbidding than when we had entered. Neither of us spoke; Merlin kept his own counsel, and when I looked behind me I saw him wrapped in his cloak although the air was warm.

  We stopped beside a clear, dish-shaped pool to make our camp for the night. The pool lay in an airy, open glade within the forest which ringed the glade like a tall, dark wall. A small stand of beech trees grew near the forest wall, and around the pool a few small willows and elder bushes.

  I watered the animals, unsaddled and tethered them – allowing an extra length of rope, so that they could graze as widely as possible among the trees. Then I set about making camp. Merlin sat a little apart, watching absently, lost in thought.