Merlin's Ring

by H. Warner Munn

  By this Gwalchmai knew at last to what use Jaun had put his share of the hidden treasure and suspected how it had come about.

  Curious to learn whatever she might, of anything that might be remembered of her ancient homeland, Corenice constantly chatted with Jaun in her own language. In doing so, she disregarded one important fact: Sometimes when people speak of things that interest them, they may learn from each other. Jaun had become filled with a mighty desire to see the fabled land of which she spoke so fondly.

  So it was that the Basque expedition did find the fabled site of Cibola, the Golden City, and came to the continent of Atlantis, but in the end could only sail above it without knowing, becalmed in the Sargasso Sea, beneath which it lies.

  As the group went on, Mairtre and Arngrim became very close. How long she had existed as a statue in the wizard’s fountain, invisible to human eyes except on Saint John’s day, when wicked enchantments fail, she never knew. The only thing she was certain about was that she had not perceptibly aged. It may have been long, but the years had not touched her and she had no doubts about accepting Arngrim’s affection.

  She cast loving eyes upon him also and it was laughable to the others to see how the ways of the ugly giant had softened, although Gwalchmai and Corenice did not make fun of him. They had not been together so long that they could not realize fully how he and Mairtre saw each other.

  They came down out of the mists, just as the sun was setting. They looked out over the fair lowlands of France and it was a pleasure to them to see that the mountains lay behind. There was little difference yet between the two countries, so close to the slopes.

  They soon found that Basque was spoken here also, the Pyrenees being no bar to language, for a group of chattering children came by as they entered a little village and Core-nice understood most of what they said.

  An ox team plodded toward them hauling a farm wagon, gay fringes hanging from their yoke, bells clanking softly. The fanner greeted the children and looked at the strangers without much surprise.

  “Gaihun,” he said, and would have passed, but Corenice gave him good evening also.

  “Gaihun, grandsire. We seek shelter for the night and food. We hunger and are weary with travel. Is there an inn hereabouts?”

  The French Basque looked at them shrewdly and liked what he saw. Here, quite obviously, were two pleasant couples. The men appeared open-faced and, though armed and strongly built, were not brigands, for they had their ladies with them.

  Judging by the rich clothes Mairtre wore, even though these were the worse for travel, the Basque felt they must have money to pay for lodging. He wondered how they might have lost their horses, but he did not overlook the fact that they carried heavy pouches and there were lumpy bundles under the jackets of both men.

  He knew an opportunity when he saw one. “Soup is hot and waiting in my house for me. There is always enough for visitors. Today was baking day and we can make you pallets, but they will be on the floor. Will such beds do for you, nobles?”

  They looked at one another. There was no argument.

  “I could sleep on a doorstep if I had something to eat,” said Arngrim when Corenice had translated for them.

  She nodded to the farmer. “Lead on. You have guests.”

  They followed him homeward, down the single street of the village, to a small house with thick stone walls and a thatched roof. It had a well-tended kitchen garden and a small plot of flowers. The house was well kept and neat inside and redolent of new bread.

  A word from the farmer to his wife was enough to bring out her smile and a hearty welcome. After a substantial supper and evening prayers, they made ready for sleep.

  Corenice and Mairtre retired to their host’s own room, the farmer and his wife giving it up to take over their children’s cots.

  The children slept, in their turn for this one night, before the fireplace, as did Gwalchmai and Arngrim. It was a crowded house.

  They rose early and broke their fast on new black bread, sopped in wine, and were given two loaves to take with them.

  When they were about to leave, Corenice staggered and turned pale. A dizziness came over her-and she almost fell, but she thrust away Gwalchmai’s anxious hand and caught herself. The feeling soon passed and she felt able to travel,

  Gwalchmai gave the farmer one of the smaller gold coins he had already separated from the others in his pouch, at which windfall the Basque couple felt overpaid. Arngrim did the same, and Mairtre traded her fine dress for a homespun gown more suitable for travel and less conspicuous. Then they were ready for the road.

  When they had gone a little way, the farmer came running after them waving a stout walking stick.

  “My own makila. For the sick lady.”

  Corenice thanked him and they went on. She alternately supported herself by it and leaned upon Gwalchmai when the road was rough. After a little while she stepped out strongly and their pace increased.

  As they went on, traffic on the road thickened. There were few wagons, but many people were walking. Some of these were carrying sticks or staffs over their shoulders, with bundles tied upon them, and had evidently come a long way. There were knights on horseback, who bore themselves proudly and wore crosses upon their arms.

  There were women and children on foot, tired and dusty, although it was still early in the day. They pushed on slowly, as though they had walked throughout most of the night and slept in the fields to hasten their reaching of the destination toward which all journeyed.

  Sick and crippled were moving upon the road in company with the able, being carried in litters or riding on two-wheeled carts and barrows drawn by donkeys, mules, or even being pushed or pulled by the relatives of those who were unable to walk. It looked as though the whole of southern France was being depopulated and was moving north.

  Yet obviously this crowd was not a mass of refugees fleeing before an invader. One and all—whether priest, friar, or peasant; lord, knight, or ribald; cutpurse or dewy-eyed innocent—shared a common look. It was a rapt, dedicated expression, as though their gaze was fixed upon something unearthly—something beyond the horizon, something toward which they yearned.

  As it became apparent to the newcomers from Spain that they were becoming motes in a tremendous migrating stream of movement and that they rarely met anyone coming toward them, their curiosity grew.

  Finally they arrived at a crossroad where one highway continued north and another ran-eastward. In this latter direction they had originally meant to travel, for that way lay Rome, where Gwalchmai had long planned to go, and afterward Byzantium -with Arngrim, in case his mission failed there.

  Both of these great cities were centrally located in Christian kingdoms and both had control of snipping. Therefore, neither could be ignored if Gwalchmai was to complete his mission—to deliver his message and place Alata within the empire of a Christian ruler, although he knew now there no longer existed any Emperor of Rome.

  They stopped at this crossroad and consulted on their course of action. Other tired wayfarers had fallen out for a brief rest before going on. All sat together companionably, whatever their wealth or degree, and lunched upon what they had brought.

  Nearby Gwalchmai, an old man sat with a crutch across his lap. He carried with him a bag of onions and Arngrim traded a half of his loaf for four of them.

  Gwalchmai gestured at the passersby. “Where is everyone going?”

  The old man stopped munching and stared at him. His mouth hung open hi the middle of a bite. He choked and swallowed. “Where have you been that you have not heard the wonderful news?”

  “Across the mountains. What is happening?”

  The cripple nodded as though that explained everything. “Of course. They are very ignorant in the hills. There are people up there that don’t know that there is another side to every mountain! But you look intelligent. Haven’t you heard of the great Crusade Pope Urban is going to tell us about? The one that Peter, the Hermit, has been preachi
ng?”

  They could only shake their heads. He looked amazed,

  “I thought all the world knew about it. You do know that the Pope gives orders to all Christendom, which (Kings and Emperors obey?”

  Gwalchmai did not know it, but he nodded sagely.

  “There was a terrible battle, called Manzikert, and the paynim Turks won the day over the armies of Byzantium. Then the Emperor Alexius appealed to the Kings of Europe for help. Peter has roused the Teutonic lands to march, preaching, they say, as though his heart was on fire. He has seen with his own eyes how the heathen abuse our pilgrims.

  “Pope Urban has come into France, from his palace in Rome, and called a mighty council at Clennont to tell us all what to do. He will surely urge us to take up the Cross and march with the Teutons in the following of our Lord, who will deliver Jerusalem. Then the end of the world will come and we will all be ready for it—those who have worn the Cross!”

  “Then we shall surely do this!” heartily agreed Gwalchmai and the other three nodded. Secretly Gwalchmai thought that he must see this Pope who commanded Kings like servants. Surely, with such tremendous power and influence, he might be the man to inform of the existence of Alata and so be discharged of his mission at last.

  However, this news meant to Arngrim only that if Byzantium was in such danger, he as a Varangian, the most trusted of all Byzantium’s soldiers, was far from where he should be, and the sooner he returned to take up his duties the better.

  So the crossroads became a place of parting. The two women tearfully embraced and the men gripped forearms in the old Roman manner, for that much had persisted hi both their pasts, even if they shared little else but comradeship.

  Then each man kissed the other’s lady farewell and were soon lost forever in the press of nobles, clergy, and the ever-present poor.

  It was many weary miles to Clermont, but in less than a week of travel Gwalchmai and Corenice were there, and none too soon.

  There were no accommodations for late footweary travelers, and Gwalchmai wished bitterly that he were able to find some spot under a roof for Corenice to sleep. She looked tired and her face was drawn as though she was in pain, but this she denied and had marched with the best of the pilgrims. Sometimes she forced him to hurry to keep pace with her, as strong and enduring as though she still dwelt hi that tireless body of metal he had first known.

  It seemed to him as though she too was caught up in this enthusiastic fever of movement that had swept up all the floating population of Europe to see and hear the Pope. For verily it did appear that all Europe must be crowding into Clermont.

  He bought a tarred piece of canvas at an exorbitant price, and with three poles, which should have been gold-plated so much they cost, he erected a little tent. For a few days they called it home. Many fared less well, but they did not seem to care.

  When at last Pope Urban was to speak, he mounted a high scaffold where all the thousands present could see him. He stood there, a small lonely figure, and raised his arms for quiet.

  At each corner of the platform, facing the cardinal points of the compass, a man stood with a leather speaking trumpet. Others were scattered hi lines spaced through the crowd, to catch what was said by the Pope, to repeat it in stentorian voices where other listeners could hear and pass along the speech in the same way, until all the vast host was fully-informed.

  Urban spoke slowly, with a long pause after each sentence, until he was sure he was heard and that his words had carried out to the far fringes.

  He began by condemning the cowardice of the Turks and the brutalities they had inflicted upon helpless pilgrims. He continued by praising the courage and strength of Christendom’s armies, and their invincibility were they to unite in a common cause. To fight under the banner of their Lord who had died for them was the least they could do.

  Then he went on to chide them for then- own evil. He brought home to them hi scorching phrases the danger they faced in the loss of Heaven, until everywhere the folk went sinking to their knees and beat their breasts in remorse.

  “But,” he thundered, “no sins are too heinous-to be washed away by one drop of the waters of the Jordan! No evil is too deadly to go unforgiven to those who take the Cross and smite the infidel! You are sure of success! Suffering may await you, but your reward is greater far. By the torments of your bodies, you shall redeem your souls!

  “Go then, on your errand of love, which will put out of sight all the ties that bind you to the spots you have called your homes.

  “Your homes, in truth, they are not. For the Christian all the world is exile, and all the world is at the same time his country. If you leave a rich patrimony here, a better patrimony awaits you in the Holy Land. They who die will enter the mansions of Heaven, while the living shall pay their vows before the sepulchre of their Lord.

  “Blessed are they who, taking this vow upon them, shall obtain such a recompense; happy are they who are led to such a conflict, that they may share in such rewards.”

  A mighty roar arose, drowning out him and the trumpeters.

  “God wills it! Deus Vult! Deus Vult! Deus Vult!”

  When the uproar had diminished, the Pontiff went on. “It is certainly God’s will. Let these words be your war-cry when you find yourself in the presence of the enemy. You are soldiers of the Cross; wear those crosses on your breasts or carry on your shoulders the blood-red sign of Him who died for the salvation of your souls.”

  When the milling crowd had dissipated, it had become a sober determined host. Before the day was over, arrangements were being made to march upon Jerusalem. Among the most sober was Gwalchmai.

  Nothing could have been plainer from both Pope Urban’s words and the people’s reaction to them that there was slight chance of obtaining his sponsorship and a grant of shipping to go on a voyage of discovery to a new land.

  Even had the Pope been so inclined, and it was obvious that his interests lay elsewhere, he was now committed to support this Crusade he had called. There would be little or nothing available for any other venture.

  He was not the ruler whom Gwalchmai had hoped to find. The continent that was in Gwalchmai’s power to give away must go to someone else, unless he could convince the Pope by means of a personal interview that such an expedition was feasible and of prime importance.

  But how to obtain such an interview? Directly after the exhortation, Pope Urban had left Clermont for Rome.

  That night, Gwalchmai and Corenice lay together in their tent. She shivered in the night chill and would not admit to him that she was unwell.

  He slept fitfully, distressed by doubt over his impossible mission and torn between his vow and his worry over her. Just before false dawn, he thought he opened his eyes to see a man standing in the entrance.

  The light was indistinct and the man’s back was to it, but Gwalchmai knew the voice.

  “Apprentice! Have you yet learned aught of the meaning of life and the mystery of death?”

  “Only a little, Master, but I think I am learning.”

  “Then I can praise you, for to know that you know little is in truth to know much. Now listen well.

  ‘This sword you carry and which you were given by Thor is, as you suspected, not a brand to be used lightly, to be handled carelessly or lost. It has a destiny and one day it will be called for.

  “I know your pledge concerning it, although I do not know what inspired you to make such a vow. I am proud that you realize it is intended for another hand than yours. A Champion of France shall yet wield it.

  “Now, I have one more commission for you as I had for your delivery of Excalibur, but this one will not be as difficult or take as long. It is no less important and it must be accomplished.

  “Go, therefore, with all haste on the north road until you reach the shrine of Saint Catherine of Fierbois and there make a votive offering of Durandal to that saint. She will keep it until it is called for, and there it will be safe.

  “Then you may take your la
dy, of whom you may well be glad, and go to Rome, where you should have a better chance of furthering your mission than you may believe. Good fortune pursue you, Apprentice. Good night.”

  “Stay, Godfather Merlin,” cried Gwalchmai, leaping up, catching his head in the joined poles, bringing down the canvas upon himself and Corenice in a stiff tangle. When they had extricated themselves, he found it was bright morning— Merlin was gone, if he had ever been there—and a little knot of people were gathered about, pointing and laughing. Not much later, it was a disappointed and weary pair that set their feet toward the north, having obtained directions to the shrine Merlin had mentioned.

  That there was such a shrine was proof enough that the vision had been no dream, but it seemed that the journey he had begun so lightly was becoming endless and that one mission accomplished led only to another.

  Still, he was convinced that this one was important, and he meant to do as he was bid—out of respect for his godfather’s wishes, who had surely inspired him in the original thought, and also for the honor of Roland.

  He wondered why Merlin had said “good night” when he had made his farewell in broad day. It was to be months before he knew.

  13

  Rome at J^ast

  As they took the road toward the village of Fierbois, it became more apparent that Corenice was very ill. It was evident both to her and Gwalchmai that the body of the Welsh girl she had inhabited was flawed physically as well as having had a vacancy as to mind or soul.

  In all her long existence, Corenice had never known feebleness and lassitude such as she now experienced. The hardships of travel had taken bitter toll.

  For some days, as they progressed onward, she successfully hid her illness from Gwalchmai. In the beginning they had walked, meeting many latecomers to Clermont still on the road, although there were larger groups wending their way homeward to settle their affairs before taking up the cross.

  The time came when she had to admit that she could walk no farther. Fortunately it was not long before Gwalchmai was able to hire a wagoner to go out of his way home to Chinon, in order to pass by the shrine of Saint Catherine. By that time they were only a few miles from it.